Daughter of the Dark Lord
by Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl
Summary: A girl without a name in a feif without recognition is given a second chance at life by someone in
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. I own the computer this was written on, this plot, my various OCs *hugs OCs*, and that's it!  
  
A/N: Gutentag! This is my first fic so please, be nice, or at least be constructive. The beginning's a little slow (just to warn you) but it's all very important stuff. *nod* Anyhoo, on with the story!  
  
Daughter of the Dark Lord  
  
Chapter 1 - The Beginning, as it Were  
  
The small fief of Auckland lay several hundred miles north of the border of Scanra, where the country ended, and civilization melted into wilderness, wild and untamed. No other fief operated in such extremes of all things. Spidrens and other foul beings roamed freely, though seemingly at peace, or relative of aforementioned, with the other inhabitants, humans of the Auckland mainly. There was no conflict in the small region, no battles, no gallantry, no war heroism. Families of the Auckland lived there for one sole purpose.to be undisturbed.  
  
On one spring morning the mountains were bathed in white snow, rivers were frozen, and people were shut in their homes, after having brought in their animals. In the small house of one blacksmith, there was a new arrival, a baby girl. The mother and father of the girl were so overjoyed; they forgot their previous child, another daughter, unnamed.  
  
She was used to being ignored. Though she was six she was smart, and could tell that her parents hadn't wanted a child when she was put upon them. They were young, and new to parenthood, and in fear of doing something wrong, they made the greatest mistake and did nothing at all.  
  
The girl was of medium height; thin and willowy, long legged and with a curiously angled face, not rounded with youth. Her eyes were a dark, stormy gray, and long mahogany-bronze hair fell to her shoulder blades. From constantly putting her hair in an old leather tie, a few chopped layers hung around her face. Being in the sun had brought her skin to a warm caramel color and light highlights to her hair. She was a striking child, but she was not what her parents wanted.  
  
Watching their parents loving someone other than them would make other children cry and fret, and beg for attention. She sat at the window that looked down the stable aisle and watched the iron-gray stallion tug chunks of hay from his net, not caring about her parents.   
  
'If only I could go outside!' She pined. On normal days she would her grandpa's stallion, but today the snow was too deep, and he forbade her from riding him at the risk of pulling one of his blessed tendons.  
  
She didn't know why she cared what advice anyone gave her; they did nothing but tell her no and criticize her anyway.   
  
"Nameless, go away and up to your room," Her mother said sharply, "You're disturbing the baby, and I dislike your smug malcontent."  
  
Like hell she was malcontent, what else would she be? She thought as she walked up the steps, her plain gray dress rustling limply. Without warning she tripped, and there was a resounding ripping noise as a long tear appeared, showing her white petticoats beneath, which were stained and threadbare, and one even had a cloth-eating silverfish attached to the meager strands. She looked at the rip, knowing she was in for a scolding, and possibly no dinner, though how she could have less dinner than her bread-and-water meals was beyond her six-year-old mind.  
  
"NAMELESS!" Came the yell. Though her mother was young, petite, and pretty, seemingly harmless, she came after the young girl with the steel poker that usually stood threateningly beside the hearth.  
  
"How dare you rip your new dress?! I worked and worked on it and how do you thank me?!" The girl held still and as a stone, expressionless, as a cruel, bleeding cut appeared under her chin where the poker had scraped through. The years of soot dyed the cut a sickly black, and blackened blood dripped down her neck, though she showed not any trace of pain or sadness.  
  
"Go to your room! No dinner!" She was literally hurled into her room, the attic, and she scraped the wood floors with her side, curled up so as to avoid any further hurt. When she opened her eyes, the sloping ceiling covered in old languages seemed to welcome her back. She sat up and went to her cot, and after pulling her thin sheet over her body, concealing her empty stomach, she looked at the ornately written words and wished she knew how to read them. Soon, thinking about the words made her roll over and drift off into sleep.  
  
In her dream, her mind registered a small amount of recognition, but instead she turned back towards her dream life, leaving the small bout of familiarity behind in the green meadows quickly vanishing beneath her white stallion's hooves.  
  
'Tis short, I know, and I apologize profusely. The other chapters are more like 2000 words apiece, so bear with me on this dinky thing and I promise chapter two is much better. And more interesting.  
  
Questions? Comments?  
  
Review and I'll answer!  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	2. The Black God Comes

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. If I did I'd be rich, famous, own a huge house on 100 acres in the forests near Lake Tahoe, have a Belgian Warmblood breeding and training farm, and be a Grand Prix rider.  
  
A/N: Chapter two! Yay!  
  
Chapter Two - The Black God Comes  
  
Chapter 2 - The Black God Comes  
  
The cold settled in for nearly three months. The families of the Auckland fief had no food, and gradually, they began to die, until there was none left. The lonely houses seemed to shed tears as the icicles on their roofs formed, everlasting signs of weeping. However, locked in the attic of another crying blacksmith's forge, was the last survivor.  
  
She was barely a survivor, her skin stretched tight over her ribcage and cheekbones. Her eyes were sunken, and her arms and fingers skeletal. Carefully, she reached for her last piece of bread. It was the size of her fist, hardly enough to call a meal, but with the water and snow she'd been eating, she would last for a while longer. The bread tasted like wood on her parched tongue, but she swallowed it, and kept it down.  
  
The stallion had broken out of his stall, and every once in awhile he'd whicker up at her, ears pricked. He was beginning to feel the pains of hunger as well, his ribs stuck out and his hips jutted out of his hindquarters. Still his brown eyes were alive and well, and more and more often he came to check to see if his friend was still alive.  
  
A few days later, she was sick.  
  
Shivering uncontrollably, she struggled to find a way to wrap the cloth even tighter around her shaking frame. Her breath rattled in her lungs, and she knew, in all her six years, that this was what dying felt like.  
  
For that last few days, she'd dreamt of a tall, dark figure, hooded, cloaked, with a cold, but comforting air about him. His mighty presence seemed almost too real for a dream, but she woke up, and he was gone, along with the comfort and secure darkness.  
  
So embraced by her sickness she was, she didn't notice the black figure standing in the corner, watching her, as if waiting.  
  
He was clad in all black, threadbare, yet regal robes hanging over a seemingly skeletal frame. His huge, belled sleeves nearly dragged on the floor, as his robes trailed behind him. His hood was drawn up, and there was no visible face in the dark void under it. Slowly, he walked up to the girl's bed, his hands covered in armor gauntlets, each step seeming to take eternity. He bent, his belled sleeve brushing the girl's shoulder as he grasped it, and turned her over.  
  
Misery, anger, and some relief mixed in her face, though it was sickly and grotesquely bony from the meager food supply. Her lips were blue, her caramel skin tinged a blue-green.  
  
The Black God stood there for a moment, contemplating. For three long months, no, more than that, her whole life, this very girl had fought his grasp. She should have died a long time ago, and now that she was, he didn't want it to happen. Her determination he admired, and she still held under her heavy burden of neglect.  
  
They shared a common fate, the little mystery and him. He was doomed in his right, in a way. The Black God, the one in charge of Death, Destruction, Chaos, Hurt, Pain, Suffering.the list went on as he thought of the element judges that went by those names respectively. No one prayed to him unless it was "Please, take pity on my , rest soul in peace."  
  
Anyone who had actually BEEN to the Village of the Dead, the dwellings of people's souls after they left the mortal plain, would know it was a much better place than the real world. But, wow, what a concept. In the Village, you could be whatever you wanted to be, you could converse with others, you were assigned a house like everyone else, but there was no hierarchy. Everyone was at peace, their souls destined for an eternity of resting and relaxing. But why did no one praise and ask things of him? He was exiled. His own power had turned people from him, and they had become afraid of meeting him in person some day.  
  
The girl shared it with him. Her baby sister, her rival, her parents, they were her wild horse's reins that held her back from galloping ahead to her full potential, they got devotion, love, everything they could give to each other they did. She was forced to sit and watch as she sat apart.  
  
He stood beside her bed and reached to brush a hair from her face. Her gray eyes fixed on him, and seemed to show some recognition. Recognition was all she showed. Fear, hatred, all that one that was dying should have shown she did not reveal. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed, letting herself drop into that place between life and death. However, instead of taking her to the place of the dead, where others of past years dwelt, he put his hand gently over her eyes, and took them both to his dark castle in the Realm of the Gods.  
  
He sent for one of the skeleton maids to set her up in her quarters, and the maid grinned the only grin a skeleton can give, a toothy one. In the brittle boned arms made strong by dark magic, Nameless was taken to her new home.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
She woke up and curled up in the velvet blankets, relishing the feel of the blood red satin sheets, the silk nightdress, the feather pillows.wait a second.  
  
Her eyes flew open, and she looked around in awe. The walls were painted a dark gray, with a blood red carpet, black silk bed curtains, and blood red sheets and covers on the bed's surface. A lamp in the far corner was held up by a skeleton's arm. The wood furniture was made of cherry, stained a red wine color.  
  
Nameless stood and stepped out of her bed lightly, and looked at herself. She wasn't deathly thin or sickly pale anymore. Her eyes sparkled with life, and her face was once again angled, but not pinched. Going to the mirror decorated with a bull's skull at the top, she looked at herself. The forest green nightdress was made regally, out of the finest linen she'd ever felt. It was trimmed with lighter green lace, and the sleeves were woven with the same color green ribbons.  
  
"Where.?" She didn't finish her sentence, as the bull's skull snorted through the bone nostrils and seemed to perk up.  
  
"Morning tidings to you, lass." It said courteously, in a light accent. She looked up at it in wonder more than fear, and touched the hard bone muzzle. The skull snorted yet again and jerked away.  
  
"Stop lassie, it tickles." He said matter-of-factly. Nameless smiled and reached up to touch the skull again.  
  
"Aah! For the love of Marcy, stop!" He cried, feebly trying to get away from her tickling fingers.  
  
She couldn't say she wasn't intrigued by this new place, and for some strange reason, she didn't feel afraid. Her conscience was terrified, and was urging her to be, too. Instead, she found pleasure irritating the old, decrepit bull's skull.  
  
It was a strange place, she'd noticed as she looked around. Not much for decorations, though she could see them growing on her in time. Her favorite color, red, seemed a primary color in this alternate world, and she loved her bed. Her mind wandered to Sarajevo, her stallion, and suddenly she stopped tickling the peevish skull, to sit on her bed.  
  
He hadn't gotten out of that place, she concluded, and her heart was heavy because of it. The smile melted off her lips, replaced by sullen sadness.  
  
"Don't look so grim, no one's died!" The bull skull said irritatingly. Nameless laughed, and suddenly her laughs turned to tears, and soon she was sobbing on her bed, face buried in her huge feather pillows, tears running down the smooth silk.  
  
The door clicked open, and there was a rush of feet as something squishy and sort of foul smelling embraced her.  
  
"What did you say, Rayearth?!" Demanded a hoarse, but feminine voice. The bull skull snorted defiantly.  
  
"I didn't do anything!" He protested. The soft, squishy arms embraced her again, and Nameless looked down and saw to surprise and horror, a rotting arm, bandaged, and the smell was the scent of putrid meat. She tried to squirm out of the zombie's grasp, but she held her tight.  
  
"Easy now milady. I know you aren't used to seeing the likes of me, or Rayearth for that matter, but humph, no one could get used to seeing him." Rayearth snorted and snapped, "Hey!" But the zombie woman turned her around slowly, and to Nameless' surprise, it wasn't so bad as she thought.  
  
"Anyway, little mistress, I'm Celeste, I'll be your lady-in-waiting." She smiled brightly, and a few teeth fell out. Through a few tears that still dripped from her gray eyes, she gave her a small smile.  
  
"That's the ticket, milady, don't cry now. Your stallion's outside, and he's fine. The skeleton, Quinn, bless his soul, is taking good care of him. Not to worry." This news lightened the load on Nameless' shoulders, and she smiled a little brighter. Celeste smiled back, not losing any teeth this time, though Nameless noticed that she had her jaw tight, probably to preserve her teeth from their fate.  
  
"Where am I?" She asked, looking around.  
  
"You are in the realm of the Black God, milady. He brought you here to be cared for. Funny god, the master, always surprising everyone every few millennia." Nameless had to stifle a smile as Celeste rattled on and on, and as Rayearth became a mimic, opening and closing his mouth dramatically like Celeste did when she talked and bobbing his head side to side. Nameless had to laugh internally at their love-hate relationship.  
  
"But I'm going on again, aren't I love?" Celeste apologized comically as she came back to her senses, "Now then, the master wants you at dinner, and we have to get you all prettied up for it." She walked to an ornately carved armoire, and opened it, revealing clothing in three chief colors, black, gray, and red. They were all sized to perfectly fit Nameless' small frame.  
  
"Now this one I think will do you justice." Celeste began as she threw on dress after dress, fiddling with style, color shade, and other various things.  
  
Within an hour, Nameless was cleaned and ready, descending the grand staircase that lead into the dining room. The iron-gray gown she wore was nothing like the plain homespun her mother had made her. This had thin strands of silver woven in its dark depths, and a black, obsidian-studded belt draped over her hips, the front trailing down the skirt of her gown. At the elbow, the sleeves flared into a dramatic bell, nearly touching the floor, showing her under-layer, which was black silk. Her mahogany-bronze hair was brushed to a sheen and left to hang loose over her shoulders.  
  
A regally dressed zombie man smiled and opened the door for her with rotting fingers. He ushered her in, whispering gently, "Don't be afraid, milady." Though she had yet to get used to half-dead humans wandering the place, she tossed a small, though timid smile at the zombie. He seemed kind enough.  
  
She entered a long dining room, with black crystal chandeliers threaded with spider webs. The dining table was long as well, covered in beautifully crafted embroidered velvet. A ghostly hand waved her to a seat, and when she looked up when she was seated, the hand was gone. A low voice clearing his throat caught her attention, and she looked into the empty hood of the Black Lord himself. Immediately she rose and curtsied, nearly falling over, but being steadied by a firm gauntlet. She looked up at the empty hood, but a light aura of amusement radiated off the Black Lord, and he laughed lightly. It had many tones in it, like he had different voices speaking at the same time.  
  
He drew up a chair beside her and seemed to watch her for a moment, though where he was actually looking was a mystery. Finally he waved a hand and food appeared on the table in front of them. There was a plate of roast beef, a small salad, and two goblets, silver, with swirled carvings, like wind. Instead of a goblet stem was a skeletal hand. It seemed like small amounts for a god.  
  
"I don't have to eat." He said abruptly, as if he had known what she had been thinking. She mentally berated herself; of course he knew what she was thinking! He was a god for.uh.god's sake! He laughed again, a little louder than before. Nameless blushed deeply, knowing that he was getting everything she was saying to herself. It was like the walking naked dream, and then waking up and realizing that.wow.it's true! The Black God took a sip from his goblet to stifle his laughter.  
  
Nameless looked at the god, trying not to smile, but failing miserably. People expected gods to be like the Great Mother Goddess, poised, in control, worthy of worship, and stuff like that. The Black Lord seemed quite different, and Nameless realized she liked him better that way. She wasn't so intimidated by him as she thought she would be around other gods and goddesses.  
  
"I'm pleased that you think of me that way, lass." He said kindly in his multi-toned voice. "Always a good thing when one feels comfortable, eh?" She smiled shyly and nodded, glancing at her goblet and picking it up, touching the liquid to her lips. Water! It was cold, refreshing, almost filled with life.  
  
"Brave girl, taking food from strangers." He said. "Of course, seeing Celeste didn't faze you, so why should this?" He added as an afterthought.  
  
"She wasn't as bad as I thought she'd be. Gentle as a lamb, I thought." Nameless suddenly said. The Black Lord nodded, and she sensed a smile, somewhere, coming from him.  
  
"Truly an extraordinary girl." He said, nodding in a pleased way. They talked a little about this and that, how the world works, other people.or somewhat people that she'd meet in the future. Soon it was eleven, and Nameless yawned greatly.  
  
"I suppose you have to sleep, too." He said as if disappointed, then added, "I'm busy most of the days, so you will not see me much at all, but I will always see you at dinner, no matter what." Nameless smiled in admiration. Never had anyone held a candle to her and cared for her, and now she was blessed with the care of a god! Impulsively, she ran up and hugged the Black God around his middle, which seemed considerably higher, and he much taller up close. Patting her hair awkwardly, he gave her a little push towards the grand stairwell.  
  
"Come up to bed, milady!" Celeste called cheerily from the top of the stair, "You've had a busy day, and you're dog tired, I'd guess." Before she disappeared, the girl curtsied tipsily, and waved.  
  
"Goodnight, milord!" He disappeared the next moment. 


	3. New Life

To all my reviewers: I love you guys, and I'm so ecstatic that you like my story! You all are my heroes for taking your time to tell me how you liked it and what you liked, thank you so much times one million times infinity! And frappucinos for you all! And if you don't like coffee have something you do like!  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. If I did I'd be rich, famous, own a huge house on 100 acres in the forests near Lake Tahoe, have a Belgian Warmblood breeding and training farm, and be a Grand Prix rider.  
  
A/N: Chapter three! Yay!  
  
Chapter 3 - New Life  
  
Nameless woke up crying in the middle of the night. Tears streaked her young face and plastered stray hairs to her cheeks. She knew fully why she was all undone.   
  
Her parents had been imperfect in almost every way. They treated her like dirt, they didn't feed her much, and never in their lives had they appreciated one thing she did. Most of the time she snorted and thought, 'tough shit, you're stuck with me' but the attitude that she was all a big misunderstanding, a mistake, a technical error, didn't suit her like she hoped it would. And after all, they were her parents, and you only get one of each in your lifetime. Sure, people may often warm to others, but never are they instinctively 'mom' or 'dad' to you, just like you may change your looks but the look will never truly be all-natural you.  
  
It hurt when she'd heard silence in the cold, knowing that her mother, father, and newborn sister, no matter how jealous of her she was, all were dead. It was like a part of her heart she hated to admit existed was torn apart. The part that still hoped that one day they'd all apologize and take her for their daughter. Maybe.maybe they would even give her a name.  
  
Sobbing into her pillow to muffle the sound, she thought about the fact. She'd see everyone with their own identity, and they were a somebody to someone, because they had a name. It was painful every time the phrase 'nameless' rolled off of someone's tongue as if it were her persona. Was she ever going to be more than a nameless animal to anyone, more than an untitled book filled with jumbles of frustrated, angry thoughts and hatred, the only thing that survived her hard life.  
  
Sighing and stowing her sobbing away for another time, she concentrated on controlling her breathing, thinking the rhythm as her chest rose and fell like a bellows. Something caught her eye in the corner of her bedroom, and she recognized Celeste's sleeping figure in the armchair. Sniffing, but throwing her covers back and pulling slippers onto her long, thin feet she tiptoed downstairs to ask the cook Breck for some water.  
  
At the base of the stairs, the manservant Quinn noticed her and with a tip of his hat off of his white bone head he walked up to her and took her hand.  
  
"What can I do for you, lass?" He asked kindly, seeing her slightly red eyes and hearing her sniffs, though she tried to hide them.  
  
"I was coming down to ask Breck for water." She said wearily. "I couldn't sleep." She considered adding, "I had a nightmare" but bit back her words. She didn't want to seem ungrateful of the Black Lord's benevolence or terrified of her temporary home. Though she did almost jump three feet into the air when the front door to the castle opened and the Black God thundered in, seeming very cross at some matter or another.  
  
"Quinn, get me some wine," He snapped, his black cloak and black robes swirling around him, the air crackling with energy from the god's power, "and meet me in my chambers in ten minutes." Quinn looked thoroughly shaken, which was nothing compared to the terrified Nameless. She was sidling behind Quinn's legs, peeking out from behind him every so often to see if closing her eyes and opening them again would prove this was a dream, that the Black Lord wasn't as kind as she had thought earlier.  
  
He snarled and began to pace around the base of the stairs, until he spotted her. Stopping dead in his tracks, they eyed each other. Carefully, he took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, then turned to her, shoulders slumped instead of tense and angry. He knelt in front of her and held out a hand, or a gauntlet rather. She backed away a little, behind Quinn's coat hem. For a moment, she felt sorry for the god, as he looked utterly defeated. His hand limped and fell to his side, and he stood up, shoulders rounded and looking completely forlorn.  
  
Until he felt a tug on his sword scabbard.  
  
Nameless' gray eyes looked up at him trustingly, and he took her hand and they walked up to his private study, a large room filled with volume upon volume, reaching to the ceiling. He slumped in a large armchair, and she climbed into his lap and made herself comfortable there, ignoring the other chair that was present in the room.  
  
For a moment they sat in silence, just watching the fire, until the Black Lord broke the silence.  
  
"Why are you up so late?" He inquired.   
  
"I couldn't sleep." She said half-truthfully. He nodded understandingly, and she knew that he could tell the hidden meaning under her simple reply. After a moment, she spoke again.  
  
"What happened to make you so angry?"  
  
He sighed, seeming tired and old for the first time since she'd seen him.  
  
"Typical things, Tortall's wars with other countries demand a lot of passports to death." He explained, "Tusaine, a poor country for example, has been ruined by Tortall many times over. They lose a lot of men every time they decide that Tortall's wealth and power isn't fair." He laughed dryly, "Mithros, the god of war and justice, is having a heyday."  
  
"That's not it though. What else?" She asked.   
  
"The other gods think it isn't right for you to be here." He said almost angrily, "They get to pick their favorites of course, the Great Mother gets her fair share of women to pamper, Mithros gets his natural warriors, and all the others get their people but they think it wrong for me to have even one person I spared." He curled his hand into a fist so that when he let go, relaxing, the leather gauntlet was creased.  
  
"What are they going to do?" Nameless asked carefully, uncertainty growing in her mind. This place, strange, new, something she'd never experienced, was the only thing remotely close to a home she'd had ever in her life. She knew she'd be stupid to give it up. For a strange reason, she felt like she belonged here. The zombies, the wraiths, the skeletons, the strange ghostly presences, they would be forever stamped in her mind, and when she saw something, she'd immediately remember this. Even if they took her physically, always her mind would be here, holding hands with her rotting nursemaid, smiling at lipless servants, thanking ghosts for helping her into her chair.  
  
"If they get their way, they'll find a family for you in Tortall."  
  
"But I don't want to leave, I like it here! Already I feel more at home with the menservants and the maids and Celeste.and even the old bat Rayearth than any other place I could go!" She stiffened in his lap and slid to the floor in a huff, arms crossed over her chest. The Black God didn't deny that he was glad she liked staying with him in his castle, and he didn't want her to be taken from him. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.  
  
"I'll tell them other gods and goddesses myself if I have to! I'm not leaving!" Her face softened and she sat by his chair. "Since I'm going to stay, can I have a name, please?"  
  
"Your parents didn't give you a name?"  
  
"No, why would they?" She asked plainly, her eyes darkening in anger as she remembered the painful neglect.  
  
"We'll give you a name then, because no daughter, adopted or not, of a god should be without a persona." He stated firmly, then settled into thought as they both contemplated names, each one seeming less suited than the last.  
  
"I have a name." Said a voice. Nameless and the Black God turned around to see the Great Mother Goddess herself standing beside the hearth, her black hair loose about her shoulders, falling over the front of her green dress.  
  
"It was my belief that you wanted me to send the girl away, Great Mother." The Black Lord said in irritation.   
  
"After witnessing your bond I know neither of you would benefit from parting. The girl will stay with you." Though both god and girl were ecstatic, they didn't show it and respectfully inclined their heads.  
  
"Now, your name suggestion?" The Black Lord said, laying a hand protectively on his charge's shoulder. The Great Mother Goddess smiled, her red lips curved.  
  
"I believe she should be called Devon of Nocturne," She said strongly, "Devon meaning god's favor and Nocturne for her place of dwelling, the world of night." There was silence as both entities looked at the girl, who now seemed to be testing the name on her tongue.  
  
"Devon.Devon of Nocturne." She looked up at the gods encouraging forms. "I like it." The great Mother Goddess smiled and knelt in front of her, tilting her chin up so her vivid green eyes locked with Devon's gray ones.  
  
"You are a brave girl, Devon. Only a day ago you were at the point of death locked in an attic in the bitter cold. But you are still very young. Starting in a week's time you will begin taking lessons on being a proper lady with me, and at age ten you will begin training with the god of war as a page, then after you have learnt it all a squire, and finally a knight. You will apply yourself to your studies in all areas, understood?" Devon nodded solemnly. The Goddess smiled lightly, "Are you ready to be taught?"  
  
"Are you ready to teach me?" She countered, and nearly slapped her hand to her mouth in shame. Her first day in the realm of the gods and she'd already back talked to the leader of them all! Suddenly a tinkle of laughter reverberated around the room. The goddess smiled warmly.  
  
"It is quite alright, Devon," she assured her kindly, "but watch your tongue around other, less forgiving people of high standing." Devon nodded, smiling a little. With that, the Goddess was gone.  
  
Devon looked around the library as if seeing for the first time. Books upon layers of books were piled as high as the ceiling. Two crotchety old gnomes with long gray beards that dragged on the ground beside them wandered about, absentmindedly dusting the volumes with care and getting into some argument as to where one of the precious tomes went.   
  
"Pick one to read if you want." The Black Lord said, standing behind her now as she looked at the library. Hanging her head in shame, she shook her head.  
  
"But.but I can't." She said sadly, glancing longingly at the books like they were something she could never have.  
  
"Can't read?" He finished softly, kneeling next to her, though even on his knees he was a good foot and a half taller than her.  
  
"Yessir." She nodded gloomily.   
  
"Well then, there's no better time to learn!" He said determinedly, taking her hand. "You know the alphabet already I trust?" She nodded vigorously.  
  
"My grandfather taught it to me when I was very young." She said proudly.   
  
"Good, because letters are the foundation of all things literary, just like rain is the foundation of all things agricultural." Devon sat down in front of the fire intently as the god picked a book off the shelves and sat beside her.  
  
"Now, try." He said, holding the book out to her, which was turned to the first page. Her gray eyes raked the sentences, her lips moving silently to herself, until, in a shaky voice, she began,  
  
"In a.a hole in the gr-ground there l-lived a.a hobbit." She smiled broadly and accepted a cup of water the gnome brought her as he and his companion, who she later learned were Bobbin and Nobbin, sat beside her, following along with their eyes locked to the words.  
  
"Not a nas.a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort."  
  
They continued into early morning, reading together beside the fireplace. 


	4. Lessons, Twelve Years Later

Disclaimer: If you think I own all the shtuff that I just-so-happen not to own, I firmly believe you need professional help. Either that or a medication.  
  
A/N: Here's more for my fans! Yay for fans!  
  
Chapter 4 - Lessons, Twelve Years Later  
  
"No, no, no. Devon, it's step, cross, step, curtsy, rise, and step. I don't know what you are doing but it isn't that. Again."  
  
Devon wrinkled her nose in frustration, her forehead already dampening with sweat. Dancing lessons were hard these days, because instead of the things she learned when she was six, like easy steps and waltzes, she now had to learn fashionable court dances, and it seemed like a new one came out every day. The Great Mother Goddess, luckily, was a forgiving teacher, and waited patiently for perfection instead of drilling her for it.  
  
After twelve years Devon was eighteen, grown much taller so that she dwarfed the beautiful muses, assistants to the Great Mother. Her hair fell to past her shoulder blades in the same mahogany bronze color streaked with a slightly different shade, and growing a little darker at the ends. From fiddling with them while reading, which she did much of these days, or anything else, she had parts in front that were several inches shorter than the rest.   
  
The old manservant, Gregory, though she wondered often if skeletons ever got old, per say, suddenly grunted in discomfort.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry Greg!" Devon apologized as she backed off, taking her foot off of his. The Great Mother Goddess laughed softly and patted the manservant gratefully on the shoulder.  
  
"You may go now Gregory, I'll take over now." He bowed lowly and left the room. Devon looked up, embarrassed.  
  
"You're doing fine, lass, don't get your petticoats in a twist." The Goddess said kindly. "Now, try that again. Remember, head up, but eyes lowered, body light and free, footsteps barely audible. Glide, don't limp painfully like you do." Devon laughed under her breath and practiced with the Goddess for a while. She was a much more skilled dancer than Gregory, and Devon found that that helped quite a bit. The Goddess sensed her revelation and smiled.  
  
"That's why you must be perfect in every way at these dances, because not all men are great dancers, and one disadvantage of being prettied at balls is that men want to dance with you at all times."  
  
"It hurts to think about." Devon interrupted pertly, faking a grimace and limping for a few steps as if some heavy oaf had trod on her foot.   
  
"Devon." The Goddess said warningly. Devon looked down and saw instead of a beautiful slipper, a leather boot. She tried hiding her boots with her skirts, but the damage was done.  
  
"You can't go to a ball in your riding boots, Devon, you know that." The Goddess raised an eyebrow in a mother-scolding way.  
  
"But they're so much more comfortable!" She protested. "The slippers feel so.strange!" It was bad argument, she knew, but the Crooked God had said any argument was a worthwhile one.  
  
"Boots don't go well with dresses though, and when you have your two years in Tortall soon, people will think you an eccentric."  
  
'I am eccentric, last I checked.' Devon thought wryly.  
  
"Maybe that's a dress problem," Devon pointed out, "Maybe I should have a black dress with black leather trim to go with my boots."  
  
"A leather dress is completely out of the question, lass, now, put on spare slippers and come down at once so we can finish learning this dance." There was a no arguing tone in her voice, so Devon ran to her room to get her slippers, changed into a simpler dress that was easier to move in, and went back to the dancing hall.  
  
"Better, but why did you change your dress?" The Goddess asked.  
  
"It's easier to move in!"  
  
The Goddess shook her head and said resignedly, "Alright, let's try that again." Seeing the Goddess' obvious frustration, Devon, concentrated on every single step, and by the time the flute stopped playing, she had been perfect. Though she felt as if her muscles were screaming at her every step of the way.  
  
"Perfect Devon, just like that." She praised. "Now, eating lessons."  
  
Devon groaned underneath her breath.  
  
Later that afternoon, she had lessons with her riding master, an old colonel in some army from ancient times. The zombie was almost as stiff about his job as Bobbin and Nobbin the library gnomes.   
  
"Don't slouch so, milady, back straight. Seem elegant, refined, completely collected, not like a wild hurricane. Head up, reins light."  
  
"But I." Devon began. The old colonel shook a discolored finger at her scathingly.   
  
"No buts, just do."  
  
After the lesson in the riding ring, they went on a long, leisurely trail ride, on which Devon was allowed to wear her favorite clothes, black leather breeches that were tight but allowed for more than enough movement, her black, knee high riding boots, and her white blouse and black vest. She secured her long hair in a leather hair band before swinging onto her stallion's back.  
  
The stallion was a gift to her the year before, as her other stallion, Sarajevo, had died from old age. Devon still missed him, especially during times when they trotted, as her new mount, a liver chestnut destrier named Psyche, had a rough trot. His canter and walk luckily were smoother than the surface of a quiet lake.  
  
As they walked across the fields of night down to the river, Psyche took the opportunity of Devon's relaxed state to break into his trot a buck playfully. Devon had ridden him too long to fall for that trick again, and she sat calmly in the saddle until he stopped his joyride. Psyche was full of mischief and extremely intelligent. He had already unlocked his stall doors several times and gone for romps in the villages.   
  
Devon patted his neck affectionately, briefly running her fingers through the silky white mane that contrasted with his dark chocolate, almost black coat. He snorted and arched his neck, sidestepping a little, then walking a little faster to catch up with the colonel's refined and polite bay mare, Twilight.  
  
"See, now you can ride well." The colonel said irritably. Devon stuck out her tongue playfully.  
  
"I can always ride well, ancient one." She said, "I just get distracted by all your demands." He sniffed and looked hurt, but she saw a smile lingering around his mouth.   
  
"The realm will miss you when you leave for Tortall and stay for two years. There mightn't be any more fun around here!" The colonel said.  
  
"Are you saying you enjoy wild hurricanes?" Devon asked innocently. He looked thoroughly miffed, in every sense of the word.  
  
"I understand why I have to go," Devon said thoughtfully, "But I don't want to really. All the gods say it isn't a place at all as nice as the realm, and I don't really remember anything special about it when I was there as a child. Trees, grass, sun, snow.all that we have here."  
  
"Do you know who your father is going to choose to chaperone you there?" The riding master asked, letting his mare drink from the river. Devon shook her head.  
  
"No idea. I suppose he won't let me take anyone from here, as I don't think people are used to seeing half-dead humans and skeletons around. Although he did say that Dobbin, the assistant library gnome is coming with me."  
  
"Dobbin," the colonel snorted, "the one who always trips on his beard?"  
  
"Yes, but he knows all the best books, and he's very knowledgeable about Tortall." She explained in Dobbin's defense. Dobbin had been assistant library gnome and map-keeper for the last twenty years, but had been off on a mapping expedition when Devon had arrived, and hadn't returned until she was ten. He was small, maybe two and half feet tall, with round green eyes, a wrinkled face with plenty of laugh lines, and the longest beard of all of the gnomes. Always he wore a red stocking cap over his head, and a blue tunic and breeches, though his breeches were barely visible under his beard.   
  
"I suppose he'd be useful." The colonel admitted as they rode back and dismounted in the stable yard. It was a warm night, so Devon gave Psyche a wet down, and put oil on his hooves and rubbed him dry with a cloth. His four white stockings and white blaze shone like some kind of ethereal thing in the dim light. She kissed him on the muzzle and walked up to the house, dusting off her leather breeches as she went inside to change for her next lesson, her last with Mithros, the god of war and justice.  
  
Bad ending, I know, but I had to have a set up for the next chapter. A cool one I promise.^_^  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl  
  
I think, therefore I deserve pizza. Hey, it makes sense to me! 


	5. Last Lesson With Mithros

Disclaimer: No.  
  
A/N: Another chapter! Yay! Cool fighting scene ahead! Yay for fighting scenes!  
  
Secondary A/N: Draco Malfoy's hot! Yay for Draco Malfoy! ^_^  
  
Chapter 5 - Last Lesson with Mithros  
  
Devon walked back up to her room after her riding lesson, her legs feeling a tad weighted from being wrapped around her stallion's barrel for a length of time. She peeled off her clothes and found her practice gear ready and laid out on her bed, the breeches mended, the pads all in order and their straps new. She smiled as she thought of her faithful maid, Celeste, always on top of her wherever she went to make an impression, always the half step ahead to make everything ready.  
  
Her practice armor was stout leather lined with a thin sheet of metal, moveable, yet effective against blows, and light. The shoulder guards arched over her squared, slightly broad shoulders as she pulled them over her head, secured to her shoulders by a leather strap that threaded through two slits in her chest armor in front and back. She snapped a belt around her waist that was broad and heavy for holding her sword elegantly off to her side and within a hand's easy reach, and for carrying several other things that may be of use, such as daggers, arrows, poison, smoking substances for concealing your position long enough for escape, and the like. The thought reminded Devon, and she put a vial of the substance on her belt. Inside the back of her quilted leather vest she put a tightly coiled rope with a grappling hook attached, and she slid her heels into a pair of revolving spurs with sharp edges. As in any other fighting lesson against a god, she knew she had to have every advantage.   
  
With her spurs jingling as she walked down the hall, she tied her long hair into a leather strap so it wouldn't hinder her vision. As she walked down the halls looking every inch the poor wench going to her death, she spotted Quinn off to the side mopping the wood floors. He looked up and smiled at her, bowing deeply and sweeping off his fine crushed velvet hat that was adorned with black and red feathers. His simple gray clothing was made of the finest cloth linen the Black God could find. Devon smiled. Even servants in her father's house were treated as they were worth their weight in priceless gems and gold.   
  
"Good evening Quinn." Devon smiled warmly to her friend, "Why mop the floors on such a beautiful night? They are sparkling clean as it is and I can see my reflection in them. Go walk in the gardens or ride that pretty palfrey you have, don't waste precious nights like these mopping." She said earnestly. Quinn smiled and leaned on the oak handle of his mop.  
  
"Aye milady, the floors are clean already, and they show your reflection, but an imperfect one. Can't have people who love to gaze at floors thinking you are imperfect when they see your face reflected in it, do we?" He teased affectionately. Devon almost blushed under his compliment.  
  
"Well then, go about your business, but do it tomorrow. That's an order, milord!" She said imposingly as she saw him take up his mop again. He laughed.  
  
"No work's going to get done with ye down here, softy!" He said seriously. "And Master Mithros is waiting on ye. Besides, someone's going to need to mop you off the floor after he's done with ye. It's your final lesson and I think he'll treat it as such."  
  
"I love how everyone seems to have ultimate, unconditional faith in me." Devon scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Mop me off the floor indeed." She added as if in mock disgust. She looked up at Quinn, who had one of his hands resting on her shoulders. He was smiling.  
  
"Go on now lassie, no use wasting a perfectly good lesson. And you can't do it tomorrow." Devon smiled and walked down the halls after throwing a mock salute to Quinn's grinning figure.   
  
She opened the door to the practice arena and grinned.  
  
Unlike a usual practice arena, this one was made to be like real environments. Oh sure, they'd started on flat grounds and nice, soft sand and good footing, but what was the chance you'd fight a war in an arena? After her twelfth birthday, her father had brought in rocks, created a stream, sectioned off a part for a jungle area, made blasting light and hot sand for deserts, and moving wood platforms for ships. Every place someone could fight, he'd made a place for. There was even a bedroom replica. Devon had asked why she was going to fight in someone's bedroom, and her father had grinned and said cheekily,  
  
"Because some men are rougher than others."  
  
Devon had gaped at his juvenile answer, and that had been the beginning of the longest, most serious play fight of all history. There was still a dent in the wall where they'd thrown stuff at each other, and the aforementioned fighting environment was still a subject of much disturbing humor.  
  
In the corner, getting his armor put on by a realm squire was Mithros, the god of war and justice.  
  
Even sitting in a chair he was huge. He was solid, thick, with a body of solid muscle and able to wield unforgiving strikes. His golden hair was tied into a loose horsetail, and his bright blue eyes watched as Devon began to stretch a few feet away. Being a god, he was devastatingly handsome, as the Goddess was breathtakingly beautiful. This had come up in one of Devon and the Black God's endearing father-daughter chats. It had been the start of the second longest, most serious play fights in history.  
  
"No stretching today, Devon." Mithros said in his deep, commanding voice that rang like a bell, reverberating around the room. "Warriors don't have time to stretch before battle." He stood then, and she did as well, eying his armor for any part that was unprotected. Then she mentally slapped herself, he was all muscle, and he didn't have any venerable spots.  
  
He took his solid gold sword from the squire who handed it to him gracefully, his head bent in respect. Mithros took it and did a few practice swings before pointing the tip at Devon's partially exposed neck.  
  
"En garde." He said easily, as if it were as common a saying as 'hello' or 'ouch'. Devon took out her sword and crossed its tip with his, eyes on his face. Every trained warrior could tell someone's moves from their opponent's eyes. They flitted in every direction, betraying each and every of their thoughts about strategies. He smirked, a dangerous smirk she'd seen many times before her trainings, when she had gotten to be a real threat.  
  
"Good." He said in mild praise, and with a shriek of his sword, he drew back and lunged at her.  
  
She jumped back, dodging and swiping her sword across his, eliciting another shriek from the metal on metal contact, throwing his sword away from her body to bide herself more time. He was prepared for her move and pushed back, nearly popping her off her feet with the force of his blow.  
  
"Come on Devon, concentrate!" he snapped. She responded with a lunge, but a quick, light one so when he forcefully blocked she wasn't taken off her feet. Clangs, screams, and dull, metallic thuds echoed through the room as the metals hit, the gold making a sweet noise and the iron sounding like a banshee beside it. Devon shoved Mithros away with all her strength and then turned and ran, jumping nimbly onto the fake mountains and rock faces her father had designed. Her trainer was right after her, hot on her heels. She heard a whistle beside her ear and right between her fingers, dug deep into the rock was a golden dagger.   
  
Devon paled and then used it as a lever to get herself up to the top. Mithros, larger and not as agile as her, followed soon, but not terrifyingly behind. When he reached the top, she was nowhere in sight. He laughed a good-natured laugh, waiting for her to come out. He was sitting down and taking a sip of water from the stream, when she came out of nowhere, clinging to a jungle vine and knocking him over with a kick. He sprawled on the ground and then ran onto the sea ship simulation. He knew that she hated the feeling of the ground moving, so he was at an advantage.  
  
She followed him boldly, but when her feet touched the platform she knew he was going to be hard to fight on this ground. Her knees were weakening and bile was churning in her stomach and threatening to burn her throat. Her eyes watered so she could barely see his moves, she blocked and dodged blindly, using only the cool whistle of his sword to tell where he was. Blind, weak, and unsure, she stumbled around, looking for a way out to level the playing field.   
  
Her fingers brushed the smoke vial at her waist, and she wrenched it from its place and threw it down on the ship deck, the glass shattering. There was a whooshing noise and smoke rose before her, concealing her from Mithros' view. She stumbled off the deck and into the water, which was knee deep. Mithros wore metal armor and heavy pads, which would only get heavier as he got wetter. She wanted the advantage.  
  
Within a few moments, he hurtled out of the smoke towards her, and she stepped further into the stream. Her breeches were soaked to the thigh and she grinned at him wryly, knowing he didn't really want to come in after her.   
  
With a swing of her hand, she grabbed the rope from her vest and threw it over a rafter, swinging up onto it so she was right above Mithros' head. Silently, she dropped down behind him and struck at him with her sword, earning a surprised squeal from his armor. His shoulders sagged in defeat.  
  
"I win!" Devon said, thrusting a fist into the air. Mithros smiled at her, and handed her a quiver and a bow as she'd seen by the door when she'd entered. The arrows were fletched with harrock feathers, and the tips were made of flint, the tips dyed black with poison.  
  
"Here, take these." He said, holding them out to her. She took them carefully, admiring the smooth lines of the longbow. "You earned them. I have never fought so hard and yet you beat me. A perfect way to end a last lesson." He said warmly. She smiled, and before he could do anything about it, she hugged him fiercely around the middle. It took a moment for him to realize what was happening, but soon he relaxed and patted her head as a father would.  
  
"You are your father's daughter." He whispered to her, winking at her jokingly. She playfully cuffed him on the arm and he grinned mischievously, then swatted her rear annoyingly as she walked out of his arena for the last time.  
  
"Father, I'm home from my fighting lesson!" Devon called as she took off her boots.   
  
"In the library, Devon!" Came the answering call. She went up the stairs and smiled as she opened the door to see the Black Lord in an armchair in front of the fire, reading.   
  
"How were the lessons?" He asked, closing his book and waving her forward.  
  
"The dancing lesson was dreadful. I think I trashed poor Greg's foot." She said, smiling wryly. The Black God laughed.  
  
"And the colonel was stiff as a cane as usual, but he did say I was much improved."  
  
"Always a good thing from the colonel." He said. Dobbin took his book and shelved it, then came back and bowed lowly to her, his hands behind his beard.  
  
They talked for awhile about everything, history, life outside the realm of the gods, maps (led by Dobbin), and all other things one can talk about with another, or two others. Finally, the Black Lord changed the subject to her two-year life in Tortall.  
  
"The Great Mother and I have chosen who is going to be accompanying you." He said. Dobbing grinned toothily at Devon, and scuffled his feet in the dirt.  
  
"Dobbin, of course, you already know." He said, "Along with one of the Goddess' ladies in waiting, Sora, Quinn, and the colonel."  
  
"But how will." She began, astonished.  
  
"They'll be in disguise." The Black God answered. There was some silence.  
  
"When will I leave?"  
  
"A week."  
  
Devon felt excitement jump within her, but she also sensed the Black Lord's resentment. She couldn't really envision life without him, and for two whole years?  
  
"I'll miss you too, you know." He said, "But I'll be able to see you every once in awhile." She nodded, but still felt a little sad.  
  
"You'll be fine, and after the two years you can always come back here."  
  
"Where will I go? What will I do?" She asked.  
  
"A relevant question, all times are good times to ask questions." He said wisely, "After a few months just traveling and learning about life outside the realm, you will go to live in the Tortallan palace in the city of Corus."  
  
"How am I to get in?" She inquired.  
  
"Another relevant question. The Goddess will talk to them.in a matter of speaking."  
  
"A speech?"  
  
"Do you have any other ideas?"  
  
"No, you're right." She said, smiling. It was getting late, and she hugged her father goodnight, then went up to bed, falling asleep to dreams of the world where gods were not a common thing.  
  
One week later.  
  
Her pack pony was lightly packed with a few clothes, mostly breeches, as dresses took up a lot of room, and a bag of books, and a bag of maps. There was a small pouch of food, but the colonel and Quinn were skilled hunters, so that wasn't a cause of worry.  
  
Devon swung up onto Psyche, and pulled Dobbin up with her, where he promptly covered his eyes with his beard. His long nose stuck out through the twig-filled gray hair.  
  
Quinn rode up on her left on the good-natured gelding Torquil, and Sora was on Twilight, while the colonel trotted up mounted on a tall dappled gray stallion, Wesley, who was mouthing the bit eagerly. Each horse had a bedroll tied to the back of their lightweight traveling saddles, and sturdy cloth wraps were secured around their legs for protection and support.  
  
Devon turned to see her father, the Black Lord, walking up to her side. They looked at each other for a moment, and hugged tightly, before he let go and handed her a long scabbard, nearly three feet in length, containing a solid iron sword with a spell cast on it to make it lighter. It was strong, with sharp double-edges and a metal and leather hilt. Around the blade was rapped a small sketch in charcoal Nobbin had done of a preteen Devon with the Black God reading. She murmured an awed thank you, folded the sketch and put it in her pocket. Then the colonel said stiffly, "We must be off."  
  
They all nudged their horses into swift canters, and Devon looked back and waved, calling farewells. When she turned ahead, she saw the land of Tortall stretched out before her, and she galloped to the front of the group, clutching Dobbin tightly. Her adventure in unknown territory had begun.  
  
Yay for cheesy endings! Yay for cheese, period!  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	6. Psyche's Gallop

Disclaimer: No.  
  
A/N: Not much to say. I've written through chapter 15, though, so it's all ready for posting when you review. Yes, you.  
  
Chapter 6 - Psyche's Gallops  
  
The continued their fast pace, the horses, which had lived in the gods' realm for so long, would tire much slower than normal horses. Even the pony, who stood seven hands shorter than Psyche, who was setting the pace, could keep up on his pounding short legs. It had started to rain, and they had all donned black cloaks, much like the Black Lord's attire, made of light but layered material, which would not easily get wet. From a distance they seemed like spirits crossing the plains on their cursed steeds.  
  
The River Olorun, which Dobbin said flowed through Corus, ran deep and swollen from the added water. It gnawed at its banks, taking mud, silt, rock, and plants with it on its frenzied journey. A few travelers had stopped by the edge of the river, poring over a damp map. Quinn halted his horse, pulling the hood lower over his face, which was getting decidedly more skeletal. The colonel did the same, and a small piece of skin fell into his lap from his cheek.  
  
"That magic can't work in the rain." Sora said, her cheeks pale from the cold, her black hair plastered to her neck and back underneath the cloak. She took two potions out of her bedroll pocket, and handed them to Quinn and the colonel. "Drink these waterproofing potions. In a few minutes you'll be human as ever." The quintet waited until the faces of the knights returned to Quinn and the colonel's faces. Sora nodded at Devon, who sat on Psyche a few feet away, Dobbin in her lap, inside her cloak. Only his nose was visible. She pulled back her hood and the rain soaked her hair into long, dark, wet strings.   
  
"Let's move on, Psyche and the others can take this river straight across. We don't need to take the Seven Crossings route."   
  
"And the pack pony?" Sora asked, her green eyes wide and afraid. Twilight snorted and pawed the ground as if to say, "How dare you! We can cross that river any old day!"  
  
Devon looked down at the small pony, his thick mane plastered over his eyes.  
  
"I'll tie him to Psyche's saddle. Unpack him, take one bag each of the three of you." She said a few moments later, "We'll cross this river right over there." She pointed to where the travelers were standing about three hundred paces away. With skilled hands she lashed the pony's halter to Psyche's martingale with a sturdy knot, and they trotted over to the travelers, who, with only one horse and many belongings, seemed stuck on this side of the river.  
  
"Greetings, fellow travelers." Devon said, with her hood now pulled up like the others' to conceal their identity. No one knew what they looked like, except the gods, but if a priest or priestess happened by, they could find out, and would at the soonest possible moment. "How deep is the water?" The sturdy man who was the leader looked at them warily, something Devon suspected he'd be.  
  
"Nearly five feet, traveler." He said, "No one with a mind would cross it now."  
  
Devon nodded in thanks and steered Psyche towards the river, the pony's ears flicking towards Devon's voice as she spoke into the liver chestnut's ear.  
  
"Gallop harder than you ever have before, Psyche. Watch out for the pony. Jump if you can't tell how deep a part is."  
  
Devon sat back up and gathered her reins, her whole body stiffening. Suddenly she leaned forward and dug her heels into Psyche's sides, and he leapt forward with a loud, piercing whinny. The pony was right at his shoulder, galloping along.  
  
"Faster, faster!" She cried in the torrent of rain to her stallion. He flicked his ear back and sped into the spray of water, coming in almost up to his back. The pony was paddling frantically at his side. He sped faster, pulling the pony along with him, until something took his front legs from under him, and he fell in face first.  
  
Struggling, he righted himself and found the other horses beside him, struggling as well. With a huge surge of speed he leapt high and far, landing on the other side of the river, wet, muddy, cold, but safe, and with Devon clinging to his mane, slumped in the saddle with Dobbin on her shoulders.  
  
"Milady! Are you alright?" Sora demanded scaredly, her voice shaking as she untied the pony who was scratched form being dragged during the stallion's leap. Devon coughed, rolling over and spitting murky water out of her mouth.  
  
"I.::cough:: I'm fine." She said, trying to stand. One of her gloves was shredded, and a long rope burn stretched across her arm and hand from grabbing the pony's halter.  
  
"We'll get that seen to.oh milady we were so afraid." Sora said, rocking herself and crying. Devon leaned against Psyche's muddied chest, pressing her face into the muck and hugging his neck.  
  
"Good boy, good boy." She gasped breathlessly. Quinn and Sora helped her back into the saddle, and Dobbin was still clutching her shoulders for dear life. When they began to ride away again, he jumped out of the saddle and onto the ground.  
  
"Never getting back on that crazy nag again!" He squeaked. In the end, they got him settled on the pony's back, and they each took a little of the small equine's load.  
  
They rode on for awhile, each person wet and shivering, even Quinn, whose magic had faded and he was now rendered fleshless. The colonel was slowly drooping in his saddle, his skin becoming greenish and waxy, cuts splitting on his face and arms and hands, eyes sinking into his skull. Sora looked the worst. Her green eyes were dull and her face pale and ghostly. Her usually red lips were purple-blue. Only Dobbin and Devon seemed slightly alive. The gnome was curled up in his beard, tucked between Devon's stomach and the high front of the saddle.  
  
"Only a little farther," Devon said, "and then we'll make camp." There were no sighs of relief or groans of frustration, none of them made any noise. This puzzled Devon. What was going on? If she didn't know any better she would have said they were sick, terribly and violently sick. But Quinn and the colonel, they couldn't get sick. Right?  
  
Sora was another story, and Devon worried about her. She was human, drafted by the Goddess into the realm when she was young, so she would have no experience with sicknesses. For all she knew, Sora could be infected with ten or more diseases and illnesses.   
  
After a few hundred feet, she stopped them and lit a fire, bringing out her bedroll. Her companions except Dobbin huddled by the fire as if they couldn't get warm enough. They gratefully accepted the extra bedroll, and got even closer to the flames after huddling close and spreading it over all three of them. Dobbin awoke only long enough to be hoisted off of Psyche's back and next to the pony. He had switched mounts after riding the pony by himself so that he could get some sleep while they traveled.  
  
Psyche seemed fine, to Devon's relief. His eyes were as bright as ever, and he seemed as eager to move as any other day. Appearance, however, was another issue. Mud and water had crusted on his coat so that he looked more like a gray than a liver chestnut. His once-shining leather tack was dirty and scratched. Devon fed the horses their grains and warmed the water so that they wouldn't colic. Then she peeled off their bridles and saddle and put on their heavy blankets, and turned them loose. Psyche would lead them back when she called for him the next morning.  
  
Looking over at the fireplace, she saw the three others, and Dobbin asleep under four bedrolls. Sighing, but deciding that it was for the best, Devon found a spot on the ground and laid her soiled cloak on it, then covered herself with her spare. It was hard and rocky on the ground, and as she moved she felt she couldn't get comfortable. Instead she watched the flames dance until her eyes slowly drooped shut.  
  
In the middle of the night, she awoke suddenly to find Quinn and the colonel awake and looking much better, though they were bent worriedly over Sora, murmuring to themselves. She got up and threw her clean cloak over her breeches and vest, pulling the hood over her cold face. When she reached the trio, she gasped.  
  
Sora's eyes were shut, her breaths labored and her skin waxy and white as the moon. Her hair was frozen in strings around her face, her cloak soaked and edged in frost. She looked more dead than alive.  
  
"What happened?" Devon asked quietly, not able to take her eyes off of Sora's pale face. Quinn looked back at her and shook his head sadly.  
  
"She's contracted some sickness or another. Her face is hot but she's shivering, she can't keep any of her food down." He sighed, "I don't know what we can do."  
  
"There's nothing we can do." The colonel said. "We don't have any healing potions and if we wait for the sickness to take its course she could end up dead, or it'll take two weeks or more, and this forest isn't the place to house an invalid." Devon nodded in agreement and suddenly whistled sharply, calling, "Psyche!"  
  
The stallion thundered up, his whole body a muddy mess. The other horses followed at a trot.  
  
Devon reached up to caress his face through the mud, rubbing his velvety muzzle though her hand came off with a gray smear across the palm.   
  
"We're going on a ride, boy." She said, grabbing her bridle and throwing it over his head, then tying a rope around his belly over his blanket and climbing onto his back. She hooked her feet inside the rope for support and nudged him forward into a canter, his feet seeming never to touch the ground though the three-beat rhythm was pounding in her head.  
  
"Come on boy, for Sora." She whispered under her breath as they weaved through trees in search of a healer. With a sudden lurch, Psyche stopped dead in his tracks, ears pricked forward. Silence closed around them.  
  
The colonel's gray walked up, the light feathering around his feet fluttering as his large hooves thudded on the soft forest floor. On his back was Quinn, who had his hood off and hanging around his shoulders, and a pouch filled to the brim with appearance potions, and a paper with instructions on how to brew more. Devon turned Psyche towards the gray and Quinn and frowned.  
  
"Milady, you can't just go on alone." Quinn pointed out in his effective sensible voice. Devon sighed.  
  
"But the colonel."  
  
"Can take Sora by himself." Quinn pointed out.  
  
"But his appearance."  
  
"The Goddess fixed that for the time being. When it wanes he has enough to take them both back the remaining distance." Silence stretched between them after that, the dauntless Quinn waiting for Devon's response. She was running her hands nervously through her hair, rubbing her temples, anything that seemed to chase away the ache in her head.  
  
"It's been a trying day, milady." Quinn said softly, swinging off his horse and pulling a bedroll off the back of the saddle, spreading it out on the ground, getting another, and doing the same. He was pulling blankets off the gray's back when Devon spoke.  
  
"Quinn, you don't have to come with me." She said, "You'll want to be home in a soft bed after a night of sleeping on the ground, and there's cold, and you've just overcome a sickness." Quinn silenced her with a raised hand.  
  
"No milady." He said firmly, as a parent does to a child. "You and I have been friends for a long time now. I would think you'd trust my judgment on this. You're new at this whole mortal realm thing, and so am I. You needn't be in a strange place all alone. We can learn together."  
  
Devon thought a moment, and then looked at her friend. Because of his lack of ways to express things, because he didn't have things like, say, eyes, she had to feel his determination the way she felt what her father was thinking. His determination and his flattering undying devotion to her as his friend made her smile and shake her head as she dismounted. She laid a hand on Quinn's shoulder, looking him in the face.  
  
"Alright then." She said, smiling. His happiness was like a tidal wave and it washed over the both of them.  
  
"Now," She said with a grin, "What's there to eat?"  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	7. Strangers in Port Caynn

Disclaimer: No.  
  
A/N: I like this chapter! I think it's the only completely happy chapter in this whole story so far, so enjoy it! Yay! Also, a cameo appearance by a much credited Lady Knight in this chap. She, however, won't become a true character until chapter nine. I think. ^_^;  
  
Chapter 7 - Strangers in Port Caynn  
  
It was early morning, and dew settled on the grasses like the chill winds that seemed to blanket the whole area. It was weather that, apparently, typical people didn't like to travel in. Or, as Quinn suggested, maybe it was too early for people to be awake.  
  
"How can it be too early?" Devon asked irritably, "It's almost daylight, the sun's already almost over the hills yonder and you say it's too early?"  
  
"Not everyone has to fight gods with swords and dances at the break of day, milady." Quinn teased gently. Devon snorted as they rode on. They both sat bareback, as the blankets had been wet and ruined by the dew and the horses rolling in it, the saddles were muddy and would be hell to fix, and the horses' backs were sore. It was their plan that with the limited resources of money they had from the gods (though limited is not what it really was) they would buy new tack and several new pairs of clothes, as Quinn now had to be in disguise at all times, and he filled up his clothes more with all the extra baggage, like skin, and muscles. Both still wore their cloaks, hoods pulled up, so no one would see them and strike up a conversation.   
  
It was a while longer before Devon spotted a girl at the side of the road. She was young, maybe twelve, and was selling flowers for a bronze a piece. Devon halted Psyche, and Quinn, being the intelligent skeleton he was, followed suit, standing a little to the side and a little behind his lady as was respectful. At her bidding however, he rode up so he was closer and a little in front, to look more like an imposing man.   
  
Devon leaned over and whispered to him, "We're equals. Act as such." He nodded and turned his gaze to the girl, though she couldn't see his face in the shadows of the hood. His hands, still skeletal, were gloved for disguise purposes.  
  
"A flower for the lady, milord?" The young girl asked. Devon had thought that she looked enough like a man in the cloak, but she saw a few traitorous locks of bronze hair falling from underneath her hood. Quinn looked a question in Devon's direction, and spoke at her nod.  
  
"Much apologies, lass, but not today. Where's the nearest town?" The girl looked a little miffed at the fact that the two travelers would not buy a flower, but answered Quinn's question anyway.  
  
"A few miles south is Port Caynn milord." She said respectfully. "Are you here to see the Royal family?"  
  
Devon turned to look at Quinn and mouthed, 'Royal family?' Quinn touched a finger to his teeth, the skeleton way of silencing someone, and turned to the girl.  
  
"Indeed, lassie. Where will they be?" If the little girl was puzzled by the uncertainty of Quinn's lady companion, she didn't mention it and she didn't let it show.  
  
"At the docks near noon, and then they be staying at my family's inn, the Waverider." Quinn mouthed 'lodging' back at Devon, and she nodded in agreement.  
  
"Very well then, thank you for your help." Devon said. She urged Psyche forward with a word, and called behind her as they walked off, "Gods all bless." The little girl smiled and waved until they had disappeared around a turn in the road.  
  
When the girl was out of sight, Devon let out the breath she knew she'd been holding and Quinn laughed heartily.  
  
"That wasn't so bad after all, milady." He said as she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart.  
  
"Easy for you to say. I'm in permanent disguise, remember? I'm Devon of Nocturne, Nocturne is east, and blah, blah, blah." Quinn shook his head and laughed softly.  
  
"Funny Devon. Now, let's get to Port Caynn and buy what we need. Then we'll see where we go from there."  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Port Caynn was impressively busy, as it was a seaside city. Goods and people seemed to run willy-nilly around the streets, into shops, and out of them only to continue their personal marathon into another store. Several times Quinn's gray, Wesley, spooked and sent people running and screaming even wilder than they did normally. Devon's head throbbed with the noise, and found herself wishing she was back in the Goddess' rooms, where it was always silent save for the streams that ran through the floor. Quinn caught her distress and smiled sympathetically.  
  
At that moment, there was a loud wail of trumpets, seeming to ring in Devon's head like someone had been screaming into her ear. The crowd parted, and Devon and Quinn went off to the side as well. In a richly decorated carriage sat two beautiful women, and on either side a rider, men, waving and smiling as well.  
  
A woman who stood beside Psyche, and who only came up to the middle of his shoulder, Devon noticed, curtsied deeply and whispered in reverence,  
  
"Queen Thayet, King Jonathon."  
  
'Well that was handy.' Devon thought wryly, 'Now there's no need to act the fool and ask.' Interrupting her thoughts, much to her discontent, the square filled with cheers as tired knights rode by, limp hands waving. One, wearing a crest with a blue field and an owl charge, pulled of his helmet, and Devon raised an eyebrow. He was really a she. A woman, a lady knight, with light brown hair that fell to her shoulders, dreamer's hazel eyes, a determined face, and a rather tall physique. She and her large mount, a red roan gelding, seemed to suit each other. Behind her, riding on a bay palfrey, was a young stable boy.  
  
The crowds were chanting the words 'Mindelan' and 'Lady Knight'. Devon felt a nudge against her side, and looked into Quinn's empty hood.   
  
"Who is she?" He asked quietly, so only Devon's ears could hear.  
  
"Other than the obvious?" Devon asked with a dry smile.  
  
"Yes milady." Quinn said, looking affronted. Devon poked him in the shoulder playfully, and he responded with a shove, nearly knocking Devon off her horse. No one noticed Devon's shriek of laughter in the raucous of the blaring horns and cheering people. The two friends attacked each other with biting pinches and unforgiving fingers.   
  
While their riders were playing, Psyche looked at the horses underneath the knights' seats. He rumbled lowly, escalating to a high-pitched bugle. No one noticed particularly, except the horses. The read roan gelding tilted his head, ears flicked in Psyche's direction. He disappeared too quickly for Psyche see what he did after that.  
  
"Milady that wasn't fair!" Quinn protested weakly as he tried to struggle from Devon's hard pinch on his bicep. Feigning another struggle, he shoved her hard.  
  
It was his own undoing of course.  
  
Though he would disagree.  
  
Devon's thumb and forefinger were still clamped on his arm when he shoved her. She lurched back and he felt a sudden pain. With a yelp, he was dragged form the saddle, right on top of Devon. She let out a grunt, a very unladylike one, when his weight descended on her side.  
  
"Oh my gods Quinn!" She said in a slightly squished tone. "What do you eat!?" He let out a little whine of protest.  
  
"I'm sorry milady," he said it as if it was a vile thing, "But muscles and skin weigh a good deal more than you'd realize!" His voice carried a sound of wounded pride.  
  
"Yes, I do realize, Quinn, now, before I am squished to the center of the earth, please, remove yourself." Devon grunted. Quinn stood, and sat himself at her side as she raised herself on one arm, wincing.  
  
"Next time we come to Tortall, we are so not bringing those potions." She said in a strained voice.  
  
"I agree!" Quinn exclaimed haughtily. They looked at each other, and their silence was interrupted by Quinn's snort. Devon covered her mouth with her hand, desperately trying to stay her giggles. They sat, shaking in silent laughter, tears rolling off their cheeks into each other's cloaks, as the world passed them by, proceeding with its never-ending circle.  
  
Thanks to all my reviewers who made this story possible! I'll mention you when I win an Oscar for best screenplay! ~_^  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	8. Separated

Disclaimer: No.  
  
A/N: I'm so so SO sorry that I haven't updated! I have tons of excuses, however, like school started again. Yeah, that hell-hole where you supposedly learn stuff. And since it's high school, well.you know how that goes.  
  
So anyway..here's my apology chapter! Things get interesting!  
  
Chapter 8 - Separated  
  
The streets were quieter at night, realized Devon, and she told Quinn so, when he rode up on Wesley, the proud gray freshly bathed, his white, silky mane flowing in soft ripples down his shoulders. Psyche whinnied in greeting to his friend, shaking his mane. Or what had been his mane.  
  
One morning, when Devon had come down to the stable to feed Psyche his grains and have a little chat with her trusted destrier, she'd found a young stable girl, maybe six or seven years old, standing on a tall stool, her nimble fingers twisting Psyche's mane into braids, rolling them into tiny knots on the crest of his neck, and tying them with fine pieces of thread the color of his mane to the exact shade.  
  
When Devon inquired as to what the lass was doing, somewhat perplexed that her lordly stallion was letting a girl 'do his hair', as Quinn had so aptly called it when she'd told him, the girl had shrugged.  
  
"You seem like the impromptu type, milady, begging your pardon, I meant no offense." She had said. This had helped Devon none and she'd said so firmly.  
  
"Always running around at a moment's notice, milady. If you please, your stallion's mane is so beautiful, and so long, it might get caught and knotted if you ride in the woods, milady." With a deep curtsy, she'd begun to clamber off the stool, leaving half of the destrier's mane undone.  
  
"No, I like it." Devon had insisted. She left the girl with bright eyes and a huge smile, braiding and knotting Psyche's mane. When she'd returned, she'd found a complimentary braid encompassing the top half of his thick tail as well.  
  
"Ready for a ride?" Quinn asked, interrupting her thoughts. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant interruption; the potion had turned the skeleton into a handsome young knight with eyes as soft as a fawn's and the same hue as one's fur, and a mop of unruly blonde hair that fell into his eyes. Still, when a young lady stopped to flirt with him and bat her eyes, Devon would have to harness a loud snort of humor, thinking of that the fair ladies' reactions would be if he 'forgot' to take a potion on this journey.  
  
"I beg to differ." Devon grinned, "You just want to survey the ladies." He nearly was unseated from his horse at this comment in surprise.  
  
"I do not!" He exclaimed indignantly, and he opened his mouth for another retort, but Devon merely smiled sweetly and began to canter away, Psyche's hooves stirring up little puffs of dust that trailed like silk scarves behind her. He had no choice but to follow.  
  
The forest was serene, its silence was warm and inviting. Shafts of light lanced through the gaps in the trees' foliage, highlighting parts of the forest floor. They stopped their horses at a small creek where the water bubbled over a few rocks, splashed an inch to the next level of water, then down and down and down to wherever it was going.  
  
Psyche engaged Wesley in a water fight, though the creek barely came to their ankles in most places. They splashed up and down the creek's bed, Psyche a step ahead of the older Wesley at all times. Thoroughly irritated by the rambunctious young stallion, the gray destrier folded his legs beneath him and lay in the stream, water swirling around his rather wide barrel.  
  
Psyche, being completely baffled by his playmate's behavior, jogged down to him and took a long gray ear in his teeth pulling gently. Devon stifled a giggle as Psyche looked back at her, overtaken by confusion. He cocked his head as if to say, 'What did I do? What?' Feeling affronted, he lay down underneath a willow tree, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.  
  
"Always has the last word." Quinn commented quietly, laughing softly as silence once again coated the forest around them.  
  
Devon let out a sigh and flopped onto her back with a thump, her gray eyes looking up at the light sifting through the trees' leaves, turning them an even brighter green.   
  
"It's amazing, isn't it?" Quinn asked wisely. Devon nodded.  
  
"So many things happening." He added, prodding lightly at her to speak.  
  
"Mmhmmm." She sounded in agreement, and slowly her eyes fluttered closed.  
  
Quinn grinned and flopped onto his back as well, felling the cool air soothingly around him and soon drifted off as his companion had.  
  
A sound made Devon jump up from a sitting position and smack her head right on a tree limb she'd been able to avoid earlier. Rubbing her face between her eyes, grumbling a few choice curse words, she looked over at Psyche, standing alert at the shore of the stream, ears pricked, eyes bright, though wary. His nostrils tested the air.  
  
Wesley was sensing it, too. He dragged himself to his feet, looking around. He rumbled lowly at Psyche, pawing the water with his hoof.  
  
"Quinn, Quinn wake up!" Devon whispered urgently. Quinn's eyes opened, and he jumped into a sitting position.  
  
"What is it?" He asked quietly. Devon put a finger to her own lips, a gesture of silence, and began to tack up Psyche, as quietly as she was able. Quinn grabbed his tack and flung it over Wesley's back, cinching up the girth and throwing the bit into the gray's mouth, and just in time. As soon as the bridle had slipped over the horse's ears, a huge thing stumbled through the trees, slashing away any plant in its way.  
  
Spidren, two of them. They bared their fangs and clicked their front pair of legs together, grinning maliciously. Devon felt her hand stray to the hilt of her sword, and as her fingers brushed the hilt, the female spidren lashed out, cutting a long scratch into Devon's hand.   
  
Quinn was faster that Devon at getting his sword drawn. He slashed it, the blade whistling past the male spidren's ear, catching his attention. As the larger spidren of the two began to turn towards him, he yelled,  
  
"Take that one, we'll meet back at the town when we're done!" With that, he wheeled Wesley around and galloped from view, crashing through the trees. The male spidren roared in frustration of having his foe leaving so quickly, and followed with a vengeance.  
  
Devon turned back to the spidren female that stared back at her, neither quite sure of what to do next. Until that is, Devon took a leaf from Quinn's book. She took a dagger from her boot, threw it at the spidren, and after hearing the thunk of the blade embedding itself into the spidren's body, she smacked Psyche on the hindquarters with her hand, and he took off through the trees.  
  
After a while, Devon stopped Psyche. It was dark, and she couldn't see much. There was no sound. It was quiet.  
  
Too quiet.  
  
A twig cracked.  
  
Devon watched the spidren calmly, looking it in the eyes in a silent challenge. It hissed and clicked its two pincers at her, swinging its greataxe, making the blade whistle through the air. She didn't move, though her hands tightened on the reins a bit.  
  
"Steady." She whispered so lowly only Psyche's ears could pick it up. The spidren growled deep in its throat as it stared back at her. With a screech, it lunged. Psyche whinnied and galloped around the hairy creature into the darkness, the thing hot on his heels. He leaped over fallen trees and weaved around bushes to make him harder to catch, but the spidren was as maneuverable as he, and gained steadily.   
  
Turning to look back, Devon spotted her sword at her side, the shining iron glinting even in the complete darkness. With a ring, she drew it from the scabbard and swung back, catching the spidren in the jaws as he reached to bite Psyche's hindquarters. She shrieked in rage, swinging her ugly head from side to side, and then with a roar she charged after Psyche's disappearing form.  
  
A shadow loomed in the path ahead of them, a fallen log, nearly six feet in height and the same in width. Instead of slowing down, Devon urged Psyche faster until she thought he'd lose his balance. The wind whistled in her ears like a lone flute as he galloped at a blistering pace towards the log, his ears laced back against his neck and his weight shifting back to his hindquarters.  
  
At the last moment, sharp fangs sunk deep into Devon's side and their pace rapidly slowed. The spidren clung for dear life to her left side at the ribcage, his teeth ripping her cloak, vest, blouse, and skin to shreds. Psyche still jumped, but with the added weight was slammed hard into the log, pinning Devon's leg against the wood. A small branch was forced into her thigh as the stallion was trapped next to the log. Her leg was shattered, she could tell from the limpness of it hanging, tied to her horse's side. The spidren snarled in triumph as she reached forward, fangs bared.   
  
Devon used the opportunity to swipe at the waiting jaws, and Psyche bucked, sending her into the air, rolling over the top of the log and dropping her on the other side. She stopped rolling, staying in one place, her useless leg tucked next to her chest as she wrapped her arms around it, wincing, shutting her eyes fiercely to keep from crying and clenching her jaw to keep from screaming.  
  
There was a sickening crunch, and Psyche clambered up the log, leaping off of its top and trotting over to her. Blood began to seep through a hole between the ground and the log, its acid greenness seeming to light with a sinister glow.  
  
"Let's get out of here." Devon said shakily. With Psyche's help, she managed to hobble a few feet before Psyche suddenly stopped as he had with the spidren, ears pricked. He looked around, seemed to decide that everything was all right, and moved on. Without warning, is feet were tugged from underneath his body, and Devon saw a rope stretched taut, tied to a tree. She rolled away as the stallion crashed to his side, but she couldn't stand and run to free him. Instead, inch-by-inch, she crawled.   
  
Small noises like whispers caught her ears, and she stopped, hand paused in mid motion reaching for the rope. She caught snatches of conversations in hushed tones, and she knew whoever they were, they were talking about her. It sent shivers up her spine. Steadying herself, she put her hand down and good leg out, searching for a trap. A loop curled around her bad leg's ankle, and she was hoisted into the air, hanging by her broken leg. Tears pricked her eyes and her leg burned as if it was on fire. Psyche bellowed a war cry and tried to stand, but it was no use. He tumbled onto his side, useless to either of them.  
  
Before Devon closed her eyes and succumbed to the darkness that had tugged at her since the log, she saw some shadowy shapes not far off, their hands reaching for her with ghostly fingers.  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse!  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	9. OneLegged Battle

Disclaimer: No.  
  
A/N: Another chapter! I wanted to tell you that I upped the rating, it's now PG-13. Just being incredibly safe, but in later chapters (wars and romancey stuff), it might be a tad more than PG. Now the Tamora Pierce- created characters come in! Yay for Kel, Neal, Merric, Owen, and Dom!  
  
Anyhoo.  
  
Chapter 9 - One Legged Battle  
  
Keladry of Mindelan looked through the trees, her neck prickling as if something wasn't right. Inside the small roadhouse the men were playing cards and talking about women. Typical men things that Kel had never gotten used to. Particularly the talking about women part.  
  
Kel was several months over nineteen, and a lady knight for about a year and a half. After New Hope had been rebuilt, in more ways than one, she's been sent away from her charges to patrol areas where the Scanrans would most likely next attack. Kel had light brown hair she wore a little past her shoulders and dreamer's hazel eyes framed by long lashes. Her mouth was set in a suspicious line as everything in her body hummed in warming. Something, somewhere was wrong. Someone was in trouble.  
  
But the catch was that she didn't get the familiar tingle like she did when her friends were in trouble. This was an electric shock, cold as ice, running up and down her spine in a frenzied panic. She shivered involuntarily, and her eyes again strayed to the trees.  
  
This was spidren country, mixed with a few killer centaur colonies. It was dangerous for anyone unskilled with a heavy weapon, or without proper battle training. Kel and her companions, Nealan or Neal of Queenscove, Merric of Hollyrose, Domitan or Dom of Masbolle, and Owen of Jesslaw, were all full knights or able soldiers. All friends from page and squire years, they lived somewhat harmoniously in the small roadhouse. Kel smiled evilly as she thought of the two small bedrooms. She got one all to herself, as she was a girl so she couldn't sleep in the same room as the boys, and they shared the bigger of the two rooms. However, they were prone to late-night rows in which one boy or two would come barging in at midnight or so and sleep on Kel's floor. Last night Owen had been the object of teasing as he had found a young lady to court, Rhiannon of Riversedge.   
  
She smiled at her friends' antics. Would they ever grow up completely? She shook her head despite herself. No one, or no one who was a male, ever did.  
  
"I think she's quite pretty actually." Came Merric's halting voice. Everyone yelled and there was the sound of upturned furniture, and laughing Kel went inside to see a chair overturned and Merric pinned to it by Dom, who was giving him a rough head rub.  
  
"I give! Uncle! Ow!" Merric shouted. Dom and Owen laughed, and Neal deftly healed the knuckle burn on Merric's scalp. Kel snorted in disgust as she looked at the mess of food and general stuff spread around the roadhouse like butter on bread. The boys looked up at her, grinning madly. She got a little of a shock at Dom and Neal's twin grins, as they were cousins, and about the same age. Neal had started page duties late, when he was fifteen, and was now twenty-four.  
  
"Clean this up, guys. You have a lady living with you." Kel teased, stepping over Merric gingerly and taking a drink from the water pail. As soon as her fingers touched the water, she heard it. Cackling. It was low and evil sounding, from a centaur possibly.  
  
"Did you hear that?" Kel asked breathlessly. The boys stopped to listen, and this time with the cackle was a loud yell and a piercing whinny. Kel heard a definite female tone to the cry, and she looked outside the roadhouse door. There was a dim glow behind the trees. The centaur colonies had found a new captive.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Devon's eyes fluttered open, her pupils adjusting to the flickering light of the bonfire. Her leg throbbed strongly, as if reminding her that it was useless. Her kneecap was thrust out of her skin at a strange angle, and she winced as she sat up. Her hands were tied behind her back, a gag was in her mouth, and her legs were tied at the ankles. With intense eyes she looked around the camp. Two muscular male centaurs guarded her, and one huge stallion centaur stood at the fire. A few mares were beside him, their slender hands folded in respect.  
  
All at once they were all in front of her, and she looked up at the stallion's muscular chest and wiry beard. His eyes were light gray, and filled with malice. He reached down and tilted her head up, and she growled deep in her throat. Without withdrawing his hand, he touched her shoulder, feeling hard, bunched muscles underneath her blouse. She narrowed her eyes again in warning, and there was a splintering of wood as Psyche galloped into view, half a hitching post tied around his neck. He knocked the stallion away fiercely and stood over Devon's body, ears laced back in fury.  
  
"A feisty, strong female." The leader of the centaurs said scathingly, "A fine addition to our slave ranks." Psyche angrily stomped his feet, stirring up dust and ashes from the previous night's bonfire. The centaur mares drew back, their eyes afraid.   
  
"Untie her. We'll see how long she survives." The centaur stallion hissed at the other stallion and at Devon, as the centaur guards took the gag from her teeth she spat curses at him, her eyes blazing gray. If these disgraces to centaurs wanted a fight, she would give them one, one legged and all.  
  
She stood shakily, then lost her balance as her bad leg touched the ground and crumpled beneath her. There was a thud as she hit the ground, and the head centaur emitted a low cackle, evil and spine chilling. She stood again, using Psyche as support, and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, though the cloak itself was coated in mud, blood, and dried spidren saliva, and was torn on the side where the large spider's pincers had taken a shred at her ribcage. It didn't show her face, except her lightly pointed chin and mouth set in a stern line. A bronze layer of hair fell from under the hood as well to snake down over her front.  
  
"If you want a proper fight, I want my sword." Devon snapped threateningly, though her balance wavered. Her gray eyes were hard and cold as ice in the mountain glaciers underneath her hood. If she was going to die, which she was fairly certain she would, she would go down swinging her sword at her attackers until her last breath. The guard nearest her tossed her the blade, and she grabbed the hilt, examining the iron to make sure it was the same sword. The weight felt familiar.  
  
"Now, human." The centaur said silkily, and Devon expected a forked tongue to come out of his mouth as well as his words, "You have two minutes. Run as far as you can, and then we'll attack you."  
  
"But." Devon began.   
  
"Tsk tsk, your time is already running out." The centaur sneered, "Run."   
  
Devon turned on her heel and jumped onto Psyche's back clumsily, sliding on as he galloped through the trees. Her limp leg banged uncomfortably against her stallion's side. Suddenly there was a dim light ahead of them.   
  
"To the light, Psyche! Don't stop!" She cried amidst his pounding hooves and the sporting yells of the centaurs she was leaving behind, if only temporarily. Psyche surged forward and almost unseated Devon, who let out a yell. The two minutes were almost up.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Kel hadn't heard any noise from the woods in the past few moments, so she shook her head and continued to work at scrubbing her woolen breeches, trying to get the stains off of the knees from practicing falling.  
  
Inside, Neal sat at the table, doing nothing. His eyes seemed not to see the water jug in front of him, but instead things from the past. For some reason or another, he felt dejected this particular night. His cousin Dom and Kel had been getting on, Owen had his own sweetheart, and even Merric had a girl he liked. But what did that leave him?  
  
Neal seemed quickly in and out of crushes, but they were mere infatuations, and that was it. He could only dream about what Kel and Dom thought when they looked at each other. It was as if the room melted away and they were the only two in the world.  
  
A few months ago he had thought he had a girl to share everything with, a Yamani lady-in-waiting named Yukimi, Yuki to him. She had been spunky, alive, and beautiful in everyone's eyes. But she had heard that her previous lover from the Islands had returned home after being thought dead, and she left on the soonest boat to meet him, leaving Neal behind.  
  
"Ugh, why me?" He asked no one in particular. "Is this punishment for all my poetry?" He looked up at the ceiling and said irritably, "If you have anything to say don't say it to my face please." There was a laugh from the stairs, and Dom came down, shaking his head.  
  
"Conversing with the gods again, Meathead?" His blue eyes were laughing.   
  
"Sir Meathead, and I'm not in the mood right now, Dom." Neal said in annoyance. Dom look positively shocked.  
  
"Not in the mood for cynicism? Are you feeling well?" He asked, half serious. Neal stood up and stalked outside to find Kel coming in with washed breeches. She smiled at him and went inside, and within seconds there was soft laughter. Neal scowled and leaned against the porch of the roadhouse. If only.he wished.  
  
"Time's up, milady!"  
  
Without warning a stallion thundered out of the trees, a magnificent liver chestnut. His mane was white against his nearly black coat, and his white blaze and four white stockings glowed in the darkness. He reared as a crossbow dart whizzed by him and a black heap fell from his back, then immediately drew a sword, solid iron glinting in the dim light.  
  
"Psyche, come here, I need your support." The figure said, waving towards the horse. It was a girl's voice. There was a crash and a gray centaur stallion leaped out of the bushes followed by two spidren. His eyes glinted maliciously as he stared long and hard at her, clinging to her horse's mane like she couldn't let go. The girl turned towards them, but nearly fell over as her horse moved.  
  
"The game's over." The centaur hissed through his teeth.  
  
"Not yet." She retorted, but as the stallion started at the lunging centaur, she crumpled to the ground, disarmed for the moment.  
  
"Psyche, no! Come back here!" She cried desperately, reaching her hand out at her mount as he moved away. The stallion was held at bay by the centaur as the two spidren advanced on her kneeling figure. She held out her sword and they stopped. With an effort, she struggled to stand. What was wrong with her? Neal thought.  
  
"I won't go down without a fight!" She yelled with all her voice, and sloppily lunged at the spidrens, slicing off one of the arms, leaving an axe to fall to the floor. Suddenly she was in motion, her jaw set. She spun, blade held out, slicing cut after cut in the wounded spidren's side. He shrieked and lunged, but she dodged carefully and nicked his head off like it was all in a day's work.  
  
Neal stood up quickly and grabbed his sword from the tabletop, running outside just in time to block a strong strike from the spidren. There was a whinny and the liver chestnut kicked at the centaur, breaking his neck cleanly. Then he leaped over to the girl and she slid onto his back, not dodging fast enough to block a dagger strike to the shoulder. The knife went in to the hilt. With the spidren distracted, Neal skewered it on his sword, and looked at the girl, who was wavering in the saddle. He caught her as she fell and her hood settled over her face, her sword loosened in her hands.  
  
Neal carried her inside, and the others weren't downstairs. Sweeping everything off the table with an arm, he laid her down on the hard wood. Beads of sweat trailed off her face and onto the small exposed part of her neck, her breathing was laborious and came in short bursts like she'd run a marathon.  
  
"Kel, get down here!" Neal called urgently, looking over at the girl from the bottom of the stairs. She looked fit for a funeral in her black cloak, and that was exactly what was the problem. Neal couldn't heal anything unless he had somewhat direct touch with it, which allowed for a few layers of clothing, but not the huge, billowing layered cloak she was wrapped in.  
  
Kel came down with her nightdress tucked into her breeches, her eyes wide and concerned.  
  
"What is it, Neal?" She asked. He led her to the table and motioned meaningfully at the pitiful figure stretched across it, though she was so tall that parts of her draped over the edge of the wood.  
  
"Where did you find her?" Kel asked, her voice nearly a whisper.   
  
"She was battling two spidren and a centaur leader by herself. She was doing fine until her stallion bolted, then she couldn't stand for some reason." Neal explained, somewhat impatiently.  
  
"Where's the stallion now?" Asked Kel. As if in answer, there was a whicker and the handsome liver chestnut trotted into the house, his coat spread over with mud, blood, and water. He nudged the girl on the table gently, ears pricked, eyes bright. At the peak of his withers, he had to be almost eighteen hands high.  
  
"Psyche." She whispered through cracked lips. Kel nodded and carried the girl to her room.  
  
She laid her on the bed and with a knife cut the cloak until she pulled it away to reveal a white blouse, shredded badly, covered in a black leather vest. Her black leather breeches were ripped at one hip, revealing parts of a huge, poisoned gash. Spidren pincer marks adorned her side and hip. She reached out to touch the lurid green poison and her fingers found a pocket in the girl's breeches with something in it. Kel withdrew a piece of damp parchment, grayish at the edges, and she unfolded it carefully.  
  
With a gasp, she dropped it.  
  
Don don da! An almost cliffie! Hurray for me!  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse!  
  
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	10. First Words

Disclaimer: No.  
  
A/N: I am so sorry I haven't updated! Here's a consolation chapter, one of my longer ones. Thank you so much to all my reviewers! I love you guys!  
  
Chapter 10 - First Words  
  
The stallion the girl had called Psyche was pacing around outside the wooden door, his hooves clicking on the wood porch. His silky white mane flowed down his neck to rest lightly over his rippling chocolate brown muscles. Every other step he'd sniff the air for a scent of his mistress, and every time he lowered his head and took another step.  
  
Dom, Owen, and Merric were all asleep in their room, while Kel still hadn't returned from her job with the girl. There was a clunk upstairs as Kel closed her door and scrambled down the stairs to where Neal sat at the table, drumming his fingers. She had a piece of paper in her hand.  
  
"What happened?" Neal asked tensely. Kel held out the paper, shoving it under his nose.  
  
"I found it in her pocket." She said crisply. He took it from her and studied the sketch.  
  
It was done in charcoal, as he tested his thumb on an edge of the drawing. The parchment depicted two beings in a library, a young, preteen girl with long hair that fell over her shoulders and down some of her back, smiling as she read a book. She was sitting in a dark figure's lap, and he was cloaked, no face visible underneath a hood, and his hands covered in armored gauntlets.   
  
"Do you know what it is?" Neal asked Kel, interested.  
  
"Not in the slightest. I believe he has some connection with her, but how or who I don't know." She said as she shook her head. "But maybe we have more on our hands with her here than we thought." She added softly. In a stronger voice she said, "I've got her ready for you, Neal." He nodded and followed her up the stairs.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Devon opened her eyes slowly, the image before her blurry and shifting. She blinked a few times, and everything came into focus, even if the floor still seemed to be resting atop waves. Sitting up, she put a hand to her forehead to steady her reeling senses. Her head throbbed like someone had hit her good and hard over it with a sturdy wooden club. The light of the room, though dim, made her eyes water and her headache grow. She lowered herself back against the pillows, taking deep breaths and feeling her headache ebb away slowly, reducing it to a dull pain.  
  
Opening her eyes to slits, she glanced around the room. It was all wood, and old wood at that. A small heating stove was in the corner, covered in black ash. Various articles of clothing in many colors were sneaking out of the lid of a heavy wood trunk near the door. The bodice of a green silk dress sprawled on the floor, and beside it was a pair of green brocade slippers.  
  
Still reclining in the bed, Devon reached for her foot and pulled her boots off her feet, careful not to injure her bad leg further as the supple leather slid down her calf. Her black leather breeches were scuffed and ripped all over, but because they were tight, she didn't dare try to take them off. They might snag on her leg, and they were holding it in one piece nicely where they were. Besides, she didn't know who or what lived here, other than something very, very green she'd remembered before she'd blacked out, and they might walk in any minute.  
  
She was inspecting the shreds in her white blouse when some noise, amplified by a hundred, caught her ear. It was deafening, and she covered her ears to muffle the sound. Before long, she realized they were footsteps, approaching her door. Soft whispers accompanied them, and the door clicked open.  
  
With a swift movement that sent her mind careening, she grabbed the hilt of her sword, pointing it at the swaying door. Two people, one young woman and a man, stopped dead at the doorway. When she met their eyes, she noticed that his were a deep, rich green, the same shade she'd remembered. The woman stepped forward, hands in a gesture of peace, her eyes gentle and concerned.  
  
"Easy, we won't hurt you." She said, "Put the sword down." Devon backed up against he headboard so she could sit up safely, and dropped her sword. It went skidding across the floor with an unearthly ring, the iron shivering.  
  
"Good, how do you feel?" The woman asked. "Anything you can tell us in particular that doesn't feel right?" Devon rubbed her temples furiously, trying to calm her hearing down. Even the woman's quiet voice seemed to be a yell in her brain.  
  
"Please, lower your voice." Devon said, voice barely above a whisper. "Every sound makes my head ring like someone is shouting in my ear." She waved the man behind her forward, and he gently touched her temples with both hands. In an instant, everything sounded normal, and her vision wasn't swimming. The floor was thankfully steady.  
  
"Better?" He asked.  
  
"Much, the floor is in one place now." Devon smiled wryly.  
  
"I'm Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan." The woman said, "But you can call my Kel. This is Knight Nealan, Neal, of Queenscove."  
  
Devon nodded politely. She recognized Keladry now that her eyes were straightened out. She was the lady knight all the cheering had been about in Port Caynn. She didn't mention this though; they would ask questions if she reminded her that she was present. And that she was wearing a black cloak, like the one she had now, though it was thoroughly ruined, and not very recognizable.not anymore that is.  
  
"I'm Devon of." Devon stopped herself from saying 'the realm of the gods' because she was positive they wouldn't believe her, and instead remembered what the Goddess had told her, ".of Nocturne." She finished. Kel's face was puzzled, as was Neal's, they glanced at each other.  
  
"Is Nocturne a fief in Scanra?" Neal asked.   
  
"No it's." Devon bit her lip, thinking of some cardinal direction. In her head, she heard the voice of the Goddess, 'East, say east.'   
  
"It's East." Devon said confidently. This only confused Kel and Neal more, she noticed with distress.  
  
"Tusaine and Galla?" Kel inquired, intrigued.  
  
"No, farther east." Devon replied at the Goddess' bidding.  
  
"There is nothing beyond the borders of Tusaine and Galla." Neal stated, as if he thought she was lying. Which she was, but at the instruction of the Goddess.  
  
"That's what you think." Devon said confidently, though if there was anything else beyond the borders of Tusaine and Galla, she didn't know of it.  
  
"You are a long way from home, then. What brings you out so far to Tortall?" Kel asked, not completely satisfied with Devon's answer.  
  
"My father sent me out to see the world for two years." Devon began. "I was traveling with a company, my riding master, a friend, and a lady in waiting of my mother's, along with a map reader, but Sora, the lady in waiting, got sick and my riding master had to leave to take her back. My friend Quinn came too, with me that is, and we were separated by the spidren fights." Devon's anxiety eased. As long as she didn't say 'zombie' or 'skeleton' or 'gnome', she could fully tell the truth, and make the Goddess her mother, and the Black God obviously her father. Kel nodded, and walked out of the room to get Devon some pain-relieving tea. Neal sat on the bed at her side.  
  
"Anywhere else you're hurt?" He asked. She nodded.  
  
"My leg, I'm sure it's broken." Carefully, he rested a hand on her knee, assessing the damage.   
  
"Four places, it's going to take awhile to heal. Not even my father, the royal healer can heal this all in one day. A month is more realistic." He said, looking back at her. "I saw you fight the spidren." He said, as if it was something unusual. "You're a good fighter, even on one leg." He smiled a little at this and she smiled back, feeling relieved that he wasn't as uptight as she'd feared.  
  
"I'm always the stylist." She said dryly. He laughed softly as he healed her spidren bites with simple touches of his hands. The skin closed, leaving a small scar, maybe the length of her fingernail. He sat back thoughtfully as he looked at her leg, stiff and unmoving, held together by her breeches.   
  
"I'm not really fond of it, but you need to get that splinted and wrapped, unless you want it to keep getting hurt every time you use it. I healed the small break at your thigh, so I only need to get a little above your knee." His voice faded.  
  
"Do what you have to. I don't take to being on bed rest very easily." She said honestly. He smiled knowingly,  
  
"I expected you not to be." He said, rising from his seat. At the door he paused, and turned to her. "Tomorrow I'll wrap it. I'll send Kel in to help you into your nightclothes." With that, he closed the door. Devon sighed and leaned back against the pillows, thinking until Kel came in with a simple, homespun nightgown. Gently, they peeled the tattered breeches off her legs and untied the vest and blouse, throwing the nightgown over her head. It went to her ankles. Kel and her were the same height, apparently. Kel smiled and helped her into bed.  
  
"Thank you for helping me, Kel." Devon said sincerely, "I owe you."  
  
"No, I should be thanking you." Kel said seriously, "Neal has been pretty down the past weeks, and having someone to heal takes his mind off of things." Devon smiled.  
  
"It was a girl, I know." Devon said, at Kel's surprised face, she explained, "He seemed too relieved to be talking to me for it to be anything else." Kel laughed, and closed the door behind her.  
  
Devon leaned against the pillows and gingerly rolled onto her side, thinking about what Kel had said. Did she mean something other than the obvious? Neal seemed to be a little rattled about the girl thing, which Devon really only guessed because Neal seemed to her to be someone in and out of love. But what Devon wanted to know was what exactly about her had been what Kel had been thanking her for. Was it lending an ear, or being a distraction? A decidedly female distraction. Sighing, and silently cursing the earthly humans for their complicated workings, she said her nightly prayers to Mithros, the Goddess, the forest god Armalin, and her father. Satisfied that they had heard her, she fell asleep, dreaming of the Goddess' gardens outside her palace where all exotic plants grew and water seemed to flow from everywhere. The air was fresh and heavy with a damp, natural feel. From behind a plant, she saw all her friends, and her father, waving and smiling at her. In reality, she smiled and sighed, turning over again and falling into a deep sleep.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
In the next room, Neal was tossing and turning, disturbing his cousin Dom who was in the bunk below his. Dom opened an eye and kicked at the bottom of Neal's mattress.  
  
"Neal, stop writhing like you've got ants in your breeches and go to sleep." Dom hissed, rolling over to show that the discussion was ended. Neal took a breath and stretched out on his bunk. He closed his eyes experimentally, but like they had a mind of their own they just wouldn't stay shut. Skeletal shapes plagued his mind and an unfamiliar multi-toned voice kept speaking, but the words were just babble to his ears.  
  
Deciding that sleep wasn't going to happen any time soon, he crept out of bed and downstairs, sitting on the steps of the porch and thinking, green eyes pensive. His thoughts wandered to a pretty, plump, peppery Yamani woman, and wouldn't stray from her.   
  
From behind him he heard a light footstep, the double-click of a heeled boot. A tall leather boot stood beside him, flowing into tan breeches, and Devon sat beside him slowly, avoiding pressure on her leg as she leaned a crutch against the steps. With her rear a few inches from the wood floor, she plunked herself down in an ungainly way with a thump.  
  
"Couldn't sleep?" Neal asked a little sharply. He hadn't wanted to be interrupted while he thought, and least of all by the invalid. Something about her made a little warning sign go off on a rampage in his head. Something about her made him wary. He could sense it in Kel, too. This 'Devon of Nocturne' was much more than she appeared, he thought. Someone dangerous, and perhaps an enemy, though nothing in her introduction of herself had swayed them either way, towards friend or foe.  
  
"Neither could you." She responded dryly, sensing his irritable mood. Her face was thoughtful as she lightly elbowed him and said, "Spill." He scowled at her and didn't respond.  
  
"What makes you think I'd tell you?" He snapped. For some reason his mind was telling him to run from her, and his heart was beating double time in uncertainty, fight or flight. She shrugged, completely unfazed. If she noticed his wariness, she didn't bring it up.  
  
"Nothing does. But I know you need someone to talk to." He could feel her eerily stormy gray eyes on the back of his head as he looked away. "You think there's something missing." She said plainly.  
  
"Missing from what?" Neal asked her angrily, "What if I'm fine?" She looked at him, regarding him with respect.  
  
"If you were fine, you wouldn't be yelling at me right now, and you wouldn't have been tossing and turning half the night." Devon said quietly. She stood, leaning on her crutch.  
  
"Goodnight Neal." She said sharply, hobbling inside. Scowling to himself, Neal sat alone on the steps to the porch until the sun began to rise over the tops of the trees.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Devon felt a hand shake her awake, and she looked into Kel's hazel eyes. Kel smiled brightly and tossed her a pair of tan breeches and a loose white shirt with a light green tunic to put on over it. She helped Devon into her clothes, not noticing the grimace that Devon's face held, as these were the first clothes on twelve years she'd worn that weren't black, red, or gray, in any variation. With Kel's help, she hobbled downstairs and sat on one of the benches, which had been padded with cushions especially for Devon.   
  
With a smile, Kel went to the fire outside and came back in with a steaming cup of tea. She sat down next to Devon as she drank her tea suspiciously, not recognizing any painkilling agents in its herbal depths. She put it down on the floor and sat back, resting her leg up on the soft cushions.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Kel asked, motioning to the crooked appendage that stretched over half the bench. Devon shrugged.  
  
"Okay, I guess. I hate being confined to sitting." She said gloomily. Psyche whinnied from the pen outside and Devon longed to run outside and jump onto his back and ride like the wind, but she couldn't run, nor could she jump. Not for at least another month, Neal had said.  
  
She scowled as she thought of the healer. She had only wanted to help the night before, and he chewed her up and spit her out like some piece of tobacco or something. Kel smiled apologetically, as if she knew what Devon was thinking.  
  
"He's difficult sometimes, but he's got a heart of gold." She assured her, though Devon saw the fakeness in Kel's smile.   
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Kel thought as she poked the fire into a pile of hot coals. Neal hadn't been himself lately, and she knew it was because of Yuki. In other times, he'd had his share of crushes, but everyone, including him, had believed that Yuki was the real thing, that she was it. They'd seemed so perfect together, until Yuki left unexpectedly and Neal had changed for the worse. It was possible that they were too much the same.  
  
But how Neal treated Devon last night was appalling! Kel had been spending time with Peachblossom and heard the whole conversation. Neal had been rough, angry, sharp, and Devon had only been trying to help. The memory made Kel furious. Although, she had to admit that Devon was pretty strange in her ways, and that she herself was a little reserved and wary around her.  
  
But she had hoped beyond hope that Neal would calm down and forget for a while during Devon's stay. She had thought that having someone who needed his help urgently near him would take his mind off of Yuki. Instead, he was beginning to hate their young guest.  
  
Kel looked over at Devon's sleeping frame on the cushioned bench. She didn't look at all like Yuki. Yuki had been plump and curvy, peppery yet amusing, and beautiful with her dark brown eyes and dark hair. Devon was tall, thin and strong, like an aspen tree. She was curious, and extremely rare-looking with her gray eyes and bronze colored hair and tanned skin. She was more pensive than outspoken, and would often take to staring into nowhere with her eyes glazed over like she was deep in the realms of thought. Nothing in her whole being was anything like Yuki; in fact the Yamani and the stranger were like night and day! So why did Neal hate her so?  
  
Suddenly, the door opened and Neal came inside, and saw Kel sitting beside Devon's bench, about to wake her, another steaming mug of tea at her left. Kel looked up and touched a finger to her lips in the gesture to be quiet. Neal glared and sat down at the table, watching Kel with the look of a man who was about to meet his rival.   
  
"Devon, Devon wake up." Kel said gently. Devon's gray eyes opened, and she took the mug Kel held out to her, sipping gratefully. When she was done, Devon stretched and yawned, leaning on her crutch as she stood shakily.  
  
"I believe I will go visit Psyche." She said stiffly as she witnessed Neal at the table, watching her spitefully. Kel held her in her seat and shook her head.  
  
"You aren't going anywhere until Neal bandages your leg." She said firmly. With a look at the aforementioned healer, she went outside to douse the fire.   
  
There was silence before Devon sighed and looked at Neal with hard, cold eyes. She rolled up the leg of her breeches to a few inches above her knee.  
  
"Let's get this over with." She said, "I dislike this as much as you, you know." She added tartly. Neal suppressed a growl and sat beside her, taking out a long bandage and two small poles of wood Merric had whittled for a splint. He placed them on either side and started to wrap, a little less gently than he usually did.  
  
"Ouch gods damn you that hurt!" Devon snapped, as he pulled a piece too tight. She scowled as he continued on without even looking up at her, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
Outside, Dom sat beside Kel, talking, until they heard a string of curses coming from none other than Neal. Kel cringed as they listened to the two yelling at each other.  
  
"Mithros, just HOLD STILL!" Neal snapped loudly.   
  
"I refuse to hold still when you're hurting me! I have the right to defend myself!"  
  
"You're such a baby! Just stop wiggling like a helpless puppy and you'll be fine!"  
  
"Don't' call me a puppy, you.you." There was a pause, "You fiend!"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Venemous, conniving, evil."  
  
Inside, Devon was standing behind the table, leaning heavily on her crutch as Neal watched her angrily.  
  
"Look, if you don't want your leg healed, fine!"  
  
"Healers aren't supposed to hurt more than help!" Devon retorted. Neal took a step towards her and she took one back.  
  
"Come, on, stop being so childish." Neal sighed exasperatedly.  
  
"I am not! You should stop being childish!" Devon retorted, nearly catapulting herself over a chair as she lost her balance and fought to regain it.  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"SHUSH BOTH OF YOU!" In the doorway stood Dom, looking as mad as anyone had ever seen him. He pulled Neal over to the bench across the room from Devon's and pushed him until he sat down. He lightly urged Devon to her own bench and made her sit as well, because she was injured and it would be stupid to impose more of her healing on Neal.  
  
"You are to sit right in these places until you can look at each other without wanting to strangle the other person." Dom looked at each of them coldly and then returned to Kel, who was outside.  
  
"Thanks a lot." Neal hissed under his breath. Devon sighed and lay back on her bench.  
  
"It would be easier if your mouth wasn't moving." She said scathingly.   
  
"Easier for what?" Neal growled.  
  
"For me to not strangle you."   
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse!  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	11. Not So Friends Forever

Disclaimer: If I was meant to own this then I would own it but since I can't own it since Tamora Pierce owns it I'm not meant to own it because I don't own it.  
  
Fair enough?  
  
I own:  
  
Armalin, Devon, Quinn, Psyche, the High Priest, Amarna (in later chapters) and other peeps u don't recognize.  
  
A/N: You have no idea how much I love your reviews! You all help my writing more than I can say!!! I've written up to chapter seventeen now, so it's only a matter of time.  
  
Chapter 11 - Not-so-Friends Forever  
  
Devon sat angrily watching Neal sleep like a baby through the storm. He was breathing softly, his sides rising and falling in a light rhythm, and his eyes peacefully closed, mouth turned up at the corners slightly in a small smile. She snorted to herself and looked out the window, watching as the lightning hit the ground just outside, snaking around a tree's trunk, blasting shreds off of its heavy wood branches, causing some to fall with a snap and a crash. Leaves were flowing hither and yon, whipping past Devon's face, which seemed to perch curiously on the windowsill, looking through the flat, plain pane of glass.  
  
It had been a tradition with her father. He would creep into her bedroom late at night and wake her with a soft shake and say her name softly. When she was awake, they'd go out to the gardens, walking the cobblestone paths, seeing lightning streak across the sky like a highlight of sunshine on a wave's crest. He'd lead her courteously like she was a Lady in court, his arm offered. She'd play along, stepping radiantly in her forest green nightgown trimmed with light green lace. They'd stay out late into the night to watch the white demons chase across the sky, and listen to the soothing sounds of the light rain and confident rumble of thunder. There'd be quiet whinnies of 'all's well' from the stables as the horses reassured each other. The lightning would be mirrored in the small pond fed by a trickle of water, and they could watch the clouds staring at the water's surface.  
  
Devon suddenly blinked, and looked around. Instead of the beautiful gardens bathed in moonlight and lightning's flashes, she was in a rugged roadhouse, with barely any windows, and no good way to watch the lightning. Already its roars of thunder were dying to quiet grumbles.   
  
Devon stood, leaning on her crutch, walking up the stairs and finding the largest window in the upper hall open. She put her crutch through first, and then slid through the gap herself, seating herself on the roof of the humble abode. The scratchy thatch did not bother her; her eyes and her heart were fixed upward, watching the lightning fade away with the fixation born of awe.  
  
Rolling onto her stomach, she left her crutch and hauled herself up the roof until she sat on the highest point. From here she could see over the tops of the trees, over what seemed to be the whole expanse of Tortall. The cool wind and light, misting rain calmed her, and she laid back on the roof's arch, using her arm as a pillow. A small drop of mist dripped from a hair that fell over her face onto her nose, but she couldn't tell. Her gray eyes were closed, and in the world of dreams she was back home in the gardens, watching the white demons run across their majestic playground of a thunderhead, her hand in the crook of her father's arm.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Dom woke early, tucking his nightshirt into his breeches and pulling on his boots, deciding to check on how the two friends Neal and Devon were faring. He stumbled downstairs and splashed cool, fresh rainwater on his face, shaking water droplets from his hair before he went inside.  
  
Neal was on his bench, asleep. The bench which Devon had occupied was deserted. The cushions were somewhat disheveled and the blanket was gone. Frowning, Dom shook Neal until his cousin opened his green eyes.  
  
"Is she in Kel's room?" He asked.  
  
"Who?" Neal asked tiredly, rubbing his face to wake himself up.  
  
"Devon, Meathead." Dom said impatiently. Neal glared.  
  
"That's Sir Meathead, if you don't mind."  
  
"I'm not waking you up to swap nicknames, cousin." Dom said, "I want to know where Devon is."  
  
"I don't know." Neal said, rising and stretching. Dom eyed him warily.  
  
"Really." He said suspiciously. Neal looked at him as if realizing what Dom was thinking at the moment. He dropped the towel he had used to dry his face after he had splashed water on it, and narrowed his eyes at his cousin.  
  
"Oh, please, she didn't get you, too?" Neal complained dramatically, sitting back on his bench as if it was the end of the world.  
  
"No one got to me." Dom snapped, "But I won't deny that I suspect that you know where Devon is." Neal looked shocked.  
  
"Me?!" He demanded. "My own cousin betrays me for a strange girl with one working leg?" Dom laughed dryly.  
  
"I am not betraying you, Sir Meathead." He said. "But if you don't know where Devon is, where is she?"  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Devon opened her eyes and looked around, feeling cool winds lap at her skin as if gently telling her to rise. The sky was gray, the ground wet and muddy, a remnant of the night's storm. Below her she could see the horse pens, of which were two. One held five horses, a red roan, a chestnut, a gray, and two dark bays. In the pen beside them was Psyche, looking every inch the proud prince he was.  
  
He danced around his pen, stopping every few steps to whinny. His hooves churned the soft ground into smooth mud that sucked at his hooves, so every step was greeted with a loud squelch. Devon smiled and began to slowly get down from the roof. Her crutch would have been useless up here anyways, so she whistled for Psyche, and he trotted over. She slid off the edge and landed half on his back, grabbing a fistful of white mane to steady herself. With a light thump, she landed one-footed on the ground, hobbling around the side of the house to where her crutch lay, just under the overhang.   
  
Hauling herself up the porch steps, she heard voices inside the house, and strained her ears to hear the words.  
  
"Where could she be?"  
  
"I don't suppose she ran off."  
  
"Of course not, her horse was still in the pen a few minutes ago."  
  
"Neal, are you sure you don't."  
  
"No!" Neal exclaimed indignantly.  
  
Devon suppressed a laugh at Neal's wounded reply. She knew it wasn't his fault and he had nothing to do with it, but she still felt a part of her say, "So ha." Deciding to come to Neal's rescue, though why she didn't know, she stumbled inside leaning on her crutch, smiling.  
  
"Good morning all." She said. Everyone turned to look at her, each looking more surprised than the next. Neal had a look of triumph on his face, and Dom looked stunned.  
  
"Where were you?" Kel asked worriedly.  
  
"I was up on the roof, watching lightning last night. I must have fallen asleep up there." She said, "Cool winds and rain always lull me to sleep." She added for good measure.  
  
"And this cousin of mine had nothing to do with it?" Dom asked.  
  
"Of course not. He didn't bother me at all." Devon refined her facial expression to seem to be puzzled and saying plainer than words, 'Why ever would he do that?' Neal gave her a look that seemed to say, 'I don't really know why you're vouching for me, but thanks anyway.' She returned his look with a small nod, and looked back at Kel and Dom, who were looking at each other and talking softly.  
  
"I'm starving." Devon interrupted. She watched their reactions, deciphering each one to see what they were talking about. Merric was the one to respond to her statement, and with a courteous bow, he took a longbow from the door.  
  
"I'll get us some breakfast." He said in explanation.  
  
"Devon, Neal." Kel said, "Can you warm up the cooking fire and get the rest of the vegetables from the pantry, and cut them up for us please? Dom, Owen and I are going to ride out to the next roadhouse a few miles away and get the news from Lord Wyldon. We'll be back by sundown."  
  
Neal and Devon grimaced, but didn't say anything as the others left. Devon followed Neal outside, where he started a fire. He tossed her a knife and a few carrots, and they began to cut in silence.  
  
Neal nicked himself with the knife and cursed lowly, much to Devon's delight. She nimbly cut the carrots to pieces and tossed them into the pot of water that rested on a bar, hanging over the flames. One carrot was twisted and old looking. Devon whistled and Psyche came, taking a bite off the carrot, which she held securely in her hand. She bit off a piece for herself, and Neal made a small noise of protest beside her. Raising an eyebrow, she gave the rest to Psyche.  
  
"You always share food with animals like that?" Neal asked.  
  
"He isn't my 'animal' he's my comrade." Devon said, chewing the carrot thoughtfully, tasting the sweetness in its orange bites. Psyche took the ends of her carrots that she'd cut off and nibbled on them in a refined way. Neal glared at her, and in return got a piece of carrot square between the eyes.   
  
At first he seemed too surprised to do anything much, and at that Devon was relieved. He was rude, too sure of himself, annoying, bratty, spoiled, Crack!  
  
"OUCH MITHROS DAMNIT!" Devon exclaimed loudly. It must have been quite a sudden noise, because there was silence even from the animals of the woods for a few moments before time stopped standing still. Neal grinned at her evilly as a red welt appeared on her hand. A ladle, the weapon of choice in the committing of the crime, lay beside the fire harmlessly.  
  
"Well, that certainly was an outburst." Neal said smugly, a challenging smirk lighting up his face with mischief, as if daring her outright to come and pound his face into the ground. Devon looked from her bleeding, angry red hand to Neal and back at her hand, all her nerves finally overcoming their shock and beginning to whine, "It hurts it hurts!" Devon took the ladle, a confident, secretive smile on her face, looking at Neal out of the corner of her eye. When he turned back to stirring the carrots in the hot water, she lunged.  
  
"Nealan of Queensfuckingcove I am GOING TO WHIP YOUR SORRY ASS!"  
  
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse!  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl 


	12. Unexpected Visitor

Disclaimer: If I was meant to own this then I would own it but since I can't own it since Tamora Pierce owns it I'm not meant to own it because I don't own it.  
  
Disclaimer: Go screw your toenails if you think I own it.  
  
I do own Devon and Quinn and Psyche and....yeah...  
  
A/N: Okay, there seemed to be some confusion about where Devon is now and where Quinn is and etc etc.  
  
NO! Devon is NOT in the town. She's at a roadhouse, which is a small place on the side of the road where road guards and patrols stay. She's like, twenty miles from the town. Or more.   
  
NO! I did not "just take" Quinn out of the story. He and Devon parted ways to fight, and he stayed at a place revealed in this very chapter because he was wounded too and couldn't find Devon, and Devon was holed up at the roadhouse.   
  
Chapter 12 - Unexpected Visitor  
  
Six months had passed, and finally Devon's leg was fully healed. It was still weak and a little shaky, however, so she was still but a little more than useless if a battle happened to come around. Deep down, she suspected that Neal hadn't put his all into her healing. He seemed quite put out that she was already on two legs, walking around like a normal person instead of hobbling on those gods-awful painful crutches.   
  
Still, she kept herself busy and happy doing a few of the lesser chores for the house, like feeding and watering the horses and changing the straw in their stalls. In the lazy afternoons she was alone in the house because the others were taking orders from someone-or-another or what's-his-face a ride away. During these times she wandered around the forest, always in the companionship of her horse. Already they'd found a stream where they could sit by the side lazily, waiting for a fish to bite or watching the sunlight dance on the laughing waters' surface.  
  
At night Kel, Neal, Merric, Owen, and Dom would come back, tired, annoyed, and generally not in the mood to put up with her. She spent nights in her room, or in the small storeroom beneath the house, where it was cool and damp, and healthy groups of lizards thrived. The lizards at least paid attention to her, she thought wryly as she checked her saddle blanket for burrs or tears.  
  
For six long months the most anyone had ever said to her were Neal's insults. She now adored every moment she bickered with him, because normally she went through her day with people becoming silent when she entered a room, or avoiding her questions, or something equally vexing. Once, she caught herself thinking that this was like how she'd lived when she was young, in her parents' home. Ignored, alone, and generally avoided at all costs.  
  
She looked up from her perch on Psyche's stall door and saw Kel bringing Peachblossom out into the crossties, his tack slung onto the sawhorse off to the side. Devon watched silently as Kel tossed on Peachblossom's blanket, followed by his heavy tilting saddle, and the bit eased into his mouth. Kel turned to get her bow and arrows and spotted Devon sitting there, eyes cold as ice as they followed her. Immediately she got nervous and flustered.  
  
"Oh.hi! It's nice-nice to see you. I mean.I'm going now. To Lord Wyldon's. B-Bye." With that, she forgot her bow and arrows and jumped onto her mount's back, galloping away.  
  
Devon sighed and tossed her blanket into a pile at the front of Psyche's door. Psyche cocked his head at her, as if wondering why, all of a sudden, she was acting so strangely. Devon gave him a reassuring pat and took her saddle off its makeshift rack, slinging it over her shoulder and walking out of the stables to see Kel, and everyone else, galloping away.  
  
She sadly walked into the front room and took the leather polish from the counter, taking a sponge as well, and seating herself with the saddle in her lap, scrubbing at it fiercely to keep the tears that burned her eyes at bay.   
  
After awhile, she tossed the sponge from her and slammed the lid on the bottle of leather polish, putting up her stirrups and throwing the girth over the saddle as well, lifting it and carrying it out to the stables again. Psyche touched his nose to it briefly as she came in, ears pricked, nostrils picking up the sent of leather oil. Finally, satisfied, he blew on her cheek softly in thanks, and went back to chewing his grain.  
  
Devon drew water for the stalls, pouring the heavy bucket's contents into the water troughs, then went inside and swept the front room's floor and the porch, watered the plants with the now-cooled leftover water from coffee making that morning, and fed the milk cow that was resting in the small clearing behind the horse paddocks.  
  
When she was done with all the thing she knew had to get done and could keep her busy, she climbed into the loft via the help of Psyche, only afterwards noticing that there was a ladder that lead to the same place only a few paces away. She collapsed into the soft bed of straw and let the barn cats climb over her as she looked up through the small holes in the roof at the bright blue sky.  
  
"Today just isn't my day, is it Stockings?" She asked a black cat with four white paws and a white chin halfheartedly. The cat only purred and rubbed his head on her hip, swatting at a fly a few minutes later and bringing back a headless mouse a while after that. His ears were alert, as if, by some miracle, headless mice were the key to all her problems and therefore she should be happy. Devon didn't think that headless mice, even if they be by the hundreds, could help anyone's problems, unless it be hunger. Nor did she want it to be the solution, though she didn't tell Stockings that. She only patted his head as he purred; trying not to look at the minute gore he'd brought her.  
  
The thundering of hooves outside and the flashes of bay, chestnut, red roan, and gray, told her that the knights were home. It also told her that she was to be silent and act as if she was incorporeal for the remainder of the night.  
  
Sighing, she climbed from the loft, forgetting the ladder a second time as she used Psyche to get back on solid ground. She cooped grain into the bins inside each of the stalls just in time, as the riders put their dirty tack on the racks and let their horses return to their stalls.  
  
Deciding that using her silent time for something useful was rather a good idea, Devon took the saddles and their bridles and unbuckled everything from them, cleaning every molecule of each leather strap. She put the clean tack back on the horses, readjusting the buckles so that they fit perfectly. She was appalled to notice that Owen's horse, Joyful, a dark bay gelding with a somewhat long face, had his headstall way too short. The bit clamped uncomfortably on the gelding's mouth, so Devon punched new holes into the cheek straps until the bit rested easily on the horse's bars. (a part of the mouth)  
  
"Oy, Devon!" Called someone from the house.  
  
"Aye, what is it?" Devon called back, using a voice that carried but wasn't loud enough to rile the horses.  
  
"Be jolly and bring in the water!" It was Owen, obviously. Devon shook her head, a wry smile on her face. At the pump, she filled two buckets that hung on a post that settled over one's shoulders. Behind her, she heard the loud clanks of a destrier's shoes on hard packed ground. None of the knights' horses sounded like that. She heard someone dismount, and out of the corner of her eye she saw someone tie a light gray destrier to the railing of the porch steps.  
  
"Excuse me, miss?" Asked a polite voice. Devon nodded to show she was listening, but didn't look up.  
  
"Lady Kel and Sirs Domitan, Neal, Owen, and Merric are inside. Just knock and enter." She said a bit tensely. The pump wasn't acting like it wanted to help her on the getting water errand.  
  
"Thank you, miss." The voice said. It was gentle, and seemed to linger in the air as she heard him walk up the steps and open the door after knocking.  
  
There was something in that voice that screamed familiarity.  
  
Shrugging and shaking that thought from her head, Devon coaxed the pump with promises of future oiling and a few new screws to fix its handle, and finally it gushed water. She heard a few snatches of conversation from inside, but ignored them all, even the parts she thought were slightly intriguing.  
  
She winced and lifted the bar onto her shoulders, putting more weight on her good leg's side, letting her leg that had been injured rest a bit. The gray destrier caught her eye, and after close scrutinizing, nearly made her drop the water.  
  
"Wesley?" She asked in an urgent whisper. The stallion turned his head and whinnied happily, straining against his rope. His eyes were bright, and his trademark black and red fastenings drifted around his near-white coat in the soft breeze.  
  
Reaching out carefully to pat his muzzle, she stumbled inside, and once again was nearly floored when she saw the guest.  
  
Blonde hair falling into his eyes, which were soft like a fawn's and the same color. He had a bright smile, one she'd seldom seen from him. Of course, the absence of things like lips usually swayed the way someone smiled. In this case, his laughing brown eyes caught hers and his smile dropped from his face like a dress after a Midwinter ball. Everything seemed to stop as Devon eased the water off of her shoulders, her eyes not leaving his. Everything was silent.  
  
Quinn had probably never seen her like this before. Her fingers had cuts and blisters on them from the saddle-soap, her hair was unbrushed, though it hung just as pin-straight as ever, and the bronze color that was radiant normally was dimmed by dirt. Kel's shirt hung like a sack on her thin figure, and the breeches were tucked into scuffed riding boots. Still, her presence was enough to ensure him that it was indeed, her. The daughter of the Black Lord.  
  
"Devon." He whispered, taking a step towards her. She almost considered backing up for a few moments, until she felt a sudden urge to run to him and throw her arms around his neck and laugh and cry and talk and laugh some more.  
  
A strangled noise escaped her lips, a cross between a choked sob and a hysterical laugh, and she sprinted towards him, jumped, and he caught her in his arms, twirling her around, laughing though a few tears sparkled in his eyes. When he put her down, their voices mingled in pell-mell confusion.  
  
"Where.?"  
  
"How did you.?"  
  
"Woodcutter, very nice, you should see."  
  
"What's happened."  
  
"I missed you! The spidren."  
  
"Can't believe it's you."  
  
"Your father would have a litter of kittens if."  
  
"Wait!" Cried a voice. It was Kel's. Her face, and the faces of the other knights, were confused. As they should be, Devon guessed.  
  
"You two.know each other?" Dom finished Kel's thought for her, as the lady knight's voice seemed to have failed her.  
  
"Indeed." Quinn said boldly. "I am Quinn of Nocturne, at your service." He bowed lowly. Devon had to admire him for that. When they'd left he'd been but a shy servant, and now he was a dashing, daring, bold character.  
  
Devon's eyes glanced around the room and settled on Neal of their own accord. His face was set in an emotionless mask, though in his green, green eyes lay a fire of fury. Devon felt her own face relax from her grin of elation into a stern face matching Neal's. Her eyes caught his, and tempestuous gray met conflicted green as she felt a shock of something from nowhere race up her spine. Was he jealous?  
  
What? Where'd that come from?  
  
Devon pondered this as she and Quinn slept in the loft. Everything felt right now that her very best friend was here with her, at her side again. He was the only one she loved near as much as her father, and some of her father's security seemed to leak off of Quinn as well.   
  
"Goodnight Devon." Quinn said sleepily as he rolled over and fell asleep. His eye sockets were empty once again, and he was once again the skeleton she adored as a favorite brother.  
  
"Goodnight Quinn." She whispered back, though she felt the wash of sleep radiate from him, the same way she could sense his fear, confusion, determination, and other emotions and feelings.  
  
Still, she found she couldn't sleep.  
  
What had happened between her and Neal back in the house?  
  
Vivid in her mind were his angry green eyes in his emotionless face. Vivid again was the shock that riddled her spine and after startling her, she felt rejuvenated.  
  
Was he jealous? And if so, of what? They hated each other, she and Neal. There was nothing they couldn't argue about. He wanted her to go away, everything about him made it clear to her.  
  
But with Quinn's arm snaked around her waist protectively, in brotherly way, and her grin and her wild way of greeting him, leaping into his arms like that, she began to piece together all she knew of her green-eyed rival.  
  
Something snapped.  
  
She sat up, and looked down into the barn at Neal's chestnut mare, Coppersheen. Beside her was a dark figure, who could only be Neal himself. She listened intently, hidden in the enormous expanses of straw.  
  
"Hello girl." Neal said softly, stroking his mare's muzzle. She nickered good-naturedly and nudged him affectionately.  
  
"At least you'll never leave girl." He smiled. "Right?" She whinnied lowly. He walked out of the barn after giving her a handful of grain, leaving Devon to ponder.   
  
Questions? Comments?  
  
Review and I'll answer! (as done in this very chapter!)  
  
Flames?  
  
Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl  
  
"I put the fun in dysfunctional." 


	13. Friendly Conversations

A/N: I am so sorry I haven't posted in so long! It's just that high school sucks up my time like and SUV sucks gas, so yeah. That was an interesting simile.  
  
Disclaimer: Now, let's think about this. Do you think I'd be as broke as I am if I'd written those books?  
  
A/N2: I found a horrible mistake in Tamora Pierce's books! Aaaah! Okay, as you well know, she says that Peachblossom was a destrier, smaller than the larger warhorses. Well, a destrier IS a warhorse. Destrier is French for "right-hander" which is how the squire led the horse when his knight went into battle. So anyhoo.just had to get that off my back. And palfreys are quality riding horses, which is probably what she meant by destrier, so that;s how I'll call them in this story.  
  
Long story short:  
  
Destrier=warhorse Palfrey=quality riding horse  
  
Chapter 13 - Friendly Conversation  
  
When Quinn woke one morning a week later, he was greeted with the anxious stomping of horses, and the thoughtful chewing of horses in their grain. He rolled onto his stomach and looked down, seeing Devon shivering as she tossed the bucket of grain into the storeroom and began to measure out flakes of hay in a bale, after each cut giving one flake to each horse. Quinn came down the ladder, and helped Devon cart water into the stables for the mounts.  
  
When they were done, Quinn brought Wesley in from outside and tied him in front of Psyche's stall, where he knew the two horses would stay out of trouble. The gray snorted and took a mischievious bite from Psyche's grain.  
  
He turned just in time to catch a brush that flew at him. Devon smiled at him dryly and began to work the mud stains out of Wesley's coat with the stiff bristles of the brush. Her gray eyes seemed focused on something other than the gray horse in front of her, and the brushstrokes were deft, as if there wasn't any motivation behind them. Still, he didn't ask.  
  
The next day they were to leave for Corus for the Midwinter festivals. It was to be a new experience for the both of them, as the gods didn't hold parties. They invited each other to dinner, maybe went on rides or picnics in the summer together, but there were not balls or social events in the Realms. This was in part that the Black God disliked social events and dancing to the extremes. He even had been reluctant to practice a dance with his daughter, who he'd never been reluctant about anything with. Quinn chuckled at the thought.  
  
"What is it?" Devon asked, turning towards him, an eyebrow raised and her mouth up in one of its trademark crooked smiles that, instead of spreading out wide, seemed to crawl more up one side than the other.   
  
"I was thinking about these Midwinter festivals everyone here has been speaking of." He said, "Or more specifically, how much milord dislikes social events." That drew a laugh from Devon's lips as she nodded, remembering.  
  
"I don't see what's so special about them. Surely tournaments are interesting enough, I'd gather, but what is it about women in dresses and men in their finest holding hands as they go through steps of a dance?"  
  
"I was looking forward to the 'women in dresses part'." Quinn said evilly. Devon faked a shocked look and slapped him lightly across the face. They were laughing when Kel came into the barn, her breeches stained and Peachblossom trailing behind her.  
  
If Quinn noticed Devon's eyes grow colder and her body tense as Kel tied Peachblossom in his stall, he didn't mention it. The girl just stripped off Peachblossom's tack nonchalantly, as if neither Devon or Quinn existed.  
  
"Well, Devon, I'll be going now." He whispered to her, and with a slight nod to Kel, he slipped a bridle over Wesley's head and led him outside, leaving Devon and the aforementioned girl alone.  
  
Silence that seemed as uncomfortable as too-tight breeches stretched between them, and Kel kept opening her mouth as if to say something, but closing it as Devon's eyes met hers, leaving things unsaid. She watched as Devon washed her horse's tack lovingly, carefully cleaning every inch of the thin leather bridle and the stirrups on the saddle, which had curiously low front and back pieces.  
  
"What kind of saddle is it?" Kel asked quietly. Devon stopped cleaning for a second, then went back to the action and muttered,  
  
"The one you sit in when you're on a horse." Her voice was colder than ice, dripping with sarcasm. It seemed like something Neal might have said, before Yuki had chewed him up and spat him out.  
  
"No, I meant, why doesn't it have a high front and back?" Kel purposefully kept her voice low and her face Yamani-calm.  
  
"So that when Psyche decides to jump, I won't be gutted." Again, a simple, humorless sarcastic answer. Kel smiled tightly.  
  
Devon didn't return the gesture. After more than a week of being treated like she had some kind of disease, she'd started to act like one, never speaking, hardly eating, and rarely did her lips curl at the ends into a smile, unless she was around Quinn. But even then, she felt as if she had to work at it.  
  
The slight shifting of the hay bale beside her said that Kel had sat down, and was probably looking at her skeptically.   
  
"I'm sorry Devon." Kel whispered. Devon looked up, her face still cold, but with a glimmer of warmth, like sun on the ice.  
  
"I didn't know what to make of you. I let myself judge you without even knowing how old you were, or what you were like. I didn't know anything about you, really."  
  
Devon nodded as if letting her go on.  
  
"And I apologize for not trying to stop the others, too."  
  
Devon shrugged.  
  
"I wish I could apologize for Neal as well, but he's," Kel laughed wryly, "He's more of hardhead for that kind of thing, and I know you'd rather a real apology than one I made up."  
  
"Indeed." Devon said tartly. She stood abruptly and went to rest her cheek comfortingly against Psyche's shoulder. The stallion nudged her shoulder affectionately, and stood wary as Kel came over. She reached out a hand and tried to pat his nose, but he bared his teeth and snapped at her.  
  
"Stallions, never can trust them." Kel remarked, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
"I can trust him." Devon said, seemingly insulted. Like a magician, she rubbed his muzzle and he let her, ears relaxed and eyes drooping.   
  
"There's no other like my Psyche." She said, kissing him softly on his forehead. He blew at her and nipped her shoulder.   
  
"What does his name mean?" Kel asked, choosing a safe subject.  
  
"It means 'soul' in some ancient language or another." Devon replied.   
  
"He's a beautiful horse." Kel remarked.  
  
"He's been there through thick and thin. If it weren't for him, I'd have been killed surely. I just feel better when he's around." It was the longest speech Devon had made in a week to anyone who wasn't Quinn.   
  
"I know how you feel. My animals are the same way." Kel said. "Sometimes they are better friends than people." Devon nodded as she met Kel's hazel eyes. The Lady Knight was truly sorry, she saw. She was humbled by her mistake and only wanted to make everything all right.  
  
"I agree." Devon murmured.   
  
They were quiet for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable any longer.   
  
"Come for a ride with me. We can talk, with no male interruptions." Kel said, a small smile creeping to her face. Psyche went unbridled and Devon threw a plush wool pad over his back, and used that as a saddle. Peachblossom went fully tacked.  
  
The woods were beautiful, with falling leaves all around them, dotting the crisp blue sky with red and gold and orange. The already felled leaves crackled under the horses' hooves. A creek rolled by, laughing over the rocks. Cool breezes whipped Psyche and Peachblossom's manes around their necks.  
  
"What are you going to do when we leave for Midwinter?" Kel asked. Devon shrugged as Psyche gave a little buck when an itchy leaf landed on his back.  
  
"I don't know yet. Maybe I'll go home. Everything is still so strange, I'm not sure I was ready to leave home." She answered finally.   
  
"What was it like, in Nocturne, I mean?"  
  
Devon sighed, remembering.  
  
"Wonderful." She whispered. Kel smiled.  
  
"We rode, and went to a few lessons, and laughed. We sat in the gardens and talked and pushed each other into the pond. I read with my father almost every night. I helped Dobbin map the areas of the world."  
  
"Sounds like a heavenly place."  
  
"It was, in a way." Devon said, a smile flirting with her lips.  
  
After a moment, Kel spoke again, "You can come to Corus with us."  
  
"Oh, no, I couldn't." Devon protested, "You've had enough of me already. It'd be courting disaster." At this, Kel laughed.  
  
"Courting disaster is living in the same place as Neal for six months." At Devon's strange look, she added, "Even we get tired of him, too, you know." Devon smiled, one of her true smiles, where one side crawled up her face lopsidedly.  
  
"You should come with us." Kel pressed, "Midwinter isn't too far off. It's a wonderful time to visit the capital. Feasts and balls every night, women dressed up in their best dresses trying to catch men, men dressed in their best tunics and breeches and trying to catch women."  
  
"Ah, the circle of life in full swing." Devon said, a wry smile on her face. Kel laughed.  
  
"I think you'd like Midwinter. Besides, if you come, you can keep me from utter boredom."  
  
"Boredom?"  
  
"Oh yes, I have to wear a dress this year, orders from Dom, the Queen, the Princess, and my old maid, the best dressmaker in Tortall."  
  
"Somehow I believe Dom will not let you be bored if you are wearing a dress this year." Devon said offhandedly. Kel blushed and caught an evil smile tugging at Devon's mouth.  
  
"I refuse to dignify that comment with a response." Kel said, still blushing furiously.  
  
"Mmmhmm."  
  
They rode back, and Kel found to her dismay that Devon retreated back into her old guise of coldness as they neared. Neal greeted them as they pulled up.  
  
"Hello my love! I pined at your absence!" He said dramatically. Kel slapped his hand off her thigh and smiled dryly.   
  
"I'm sure you did, Meathead." She replied. Neal noticed Devon and curtly nodded at her.  
  
"Where'd you go, Kel?" He asked.  
  
"Around. Devon and I talked for awhile." Neal gave her a look that plainly said, 'That think on the horse over there actually talks?'  
  
"Well, I'm not needed here anymore." Devon said, "Goodnight Kel." She dismounted and began to lead Psyche into the barn.  
  
"Consider, okay? Please?" Kel asked. Devon smiled lightly.  
  
"I will." She said softly.  
  
When she was gone, Neal snorted. Kel looked at him, an eyebrow raised.  
  
"Why don't you like her, Neal?" She asked softly, but sternly. He looked thunderstruck that she was asking him that question.  
  
"Why should I like her?" He asked.  
  
"She's no criminal, she's no threat to you, and she's a stranger. You have every advantage over her and yet you still beat on her, making her snap back at you for your own amusement. Why?" Kel's voice was sharp. Neal couldn't find an answer. As she walked away, she said,  
  
"Think about it Neal."  
  
Questions? Comments?  
  
Review and I'll answer!  
  
Flames?  
  
Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse  
  
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl I put the "fun" in "dysfunctional." 


End file.
